


a fleet of ships is the fairest thing

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Alternate Universe - Florist, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Fusion, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - WWII, Alternate Universe - War, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: a collection of worst witch mini-fics. primarily hicsqueak.





	1. the world is so quiet here

**Author's Note:**

> \- missy-poppins91 requested hicsqueak + "the world is so quiet here"  
> \- Title from Sappho

“It’s almost pretty, when you don’t think about it,” Pippa says, breath ghosting in the air. “The world is so quiet here.”

Hecate doesn’t react, lips drawn in a thin line, her hair down and wild around her face. There’s no one to wear it up for anymore—no students, no Cackle’s, no Pentangle’s. Nothing but ice and snow, a magic so powerful not even the Great Wizard could fight it.

She still doesn’t understand why.

Why the war and why now and why so many children.

Neither of them left until the last student was safe, far away, with their families or someone to care for them, to protect them.

“It’s quiet everywhere,” Hecate says, though neither of them know if that’s true. They escaped at the last second, found refuge in Pippa’s cabin deep in the forest, the sound of shaking earth and fire distant to their ears.

They don’t know what the cities are like. If there’s still smoke. Still screaming.

“Maybe,” Pippa says, looking out at the snow-covered trees.

“Come inside before you freeze,” Hecate scolds, and Pippa’s lips quirk in a smile.

“I’ll be in in a minute.”

Hecate huffs, but leaves her to her thoughts. They need it, Pippa knows, the time alone.

She breathes in deep, icy air filling her lungs.

It stopped snowing days ago, but none of it has melted. No heat or flame seems to do the trick, and Pippa wishes she had answers. Wishes she knew where her students were, her friends. If they’re safe and alive.

“Wondering will drive you mad, Pippa,” Hecate had said gently, a hand over hers.

But she knows Hecate wonders, too. Can see it in the heavy set of her shoulders, the way she stares out the window some days, eyes vacant. She thinks maybe Hecate doesn’t want to know—that she couldn’t handle it if she did.

Shivering, Pippa warms her hands and runs them up and down her arms, but it barely cuts through the chill. With a sigh, she turns and slips back into the house, smiling when she sees the fire going, hears the faint whistle of a tea kettle.

She hangs up her coat—they’re trying to conserve magic, now, just in case—and moves through the small living room to the kitchen, where Hecate is assembling everything they need for tea, and a few sweets for Pippa.

The sight makes her chest ache.

The little things Hecate does for her, to make her happy, to make her comfortable, to shield her from whatever she can. Hecate, who came to find  _her_ at the end. Who gives everything and asks nothing in return.

Before she can stop herself, Pippa wraps her arms around Hecate from behind, pressing in close, hands resting against Hecate’s stomach. She stiffens for a moment, then relaxes, and Pippa kisses the side of her neck sweetly.

“I’m glad you’re here, Hiccup,” she whispers, because Hecate needs to hear it. Because she needs to say it, needs her to know that it’s true. “If the world’s going to end, I’m glad I’m with you.”


	2. i know it’s you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For troiing who requested hicsqueak + “I know it’s you!”

“It’s you!” Pippa says, and Hecate feels the tips of her ears burn red. “I know it’s you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re the one who made me that care package when I was sick,” Pippa says, following after Hecate turns on her heel and all but runs from the break room.

“I did not,” she says, even though she did.

“And you’re the one who made that cake for my birthday.”

“I don’t bake,” Hecate says, quickening her pace; if she can just get back to her office…

“You do so,” Pippa challenges. “You’re the one who convinced Ada not to fire me last month when I screwed up that project.”

“Why would I do that?” Hecate drawls, “Your performance was abysmal.”

Pippa grabs her arm and forces her to turn, to face her. Her smile is wide and her eyes bright when she says, “You like me.”

Hecate flushes and pulls her arm away. “You’re barely tolerable.”

Pippa’s grin widens. “You  _really_  like me.”

Hecate opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out, no sound, so she flees, nearly running the rest of the way toward her office. She’s almost inside when Pippa touches her arm again, softly, and she freezes, one hand on the doorknob.

“Hecate,” Pippa says, her voice so gentle, and it’s only that small comfort that makes Hecate turn to face her.

The moment she does, Pippa arches up on her toes and kisses her. Soft and light.

She squeezes Hecate’s arm.

“I like you, too.”


	3. war au (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For coramvobis, who requested hicsqueak + "i've learned to be ashamed of all my scars"  
>  **\- TW: references to torture, war, physical abuse**

The war came so fast, no one was prepared. One day Pippa was drowning in paperwork, overseeing students, loving her life for the most part; the next, chaos. **  
**

She knows she got lucky—found herself aiding the effort from behind the scenes, setting up safe havens for children and their families, consulting on intelligence reports, sheltering her school and others.

Hecate was a different story, and she doesn’t know all of it. Knows the Great Wizard called on her to make weapons, create potions and spells to decimate the enemy. Knows she refused. Knows she was sent to the front lines as punishment.

She worked as a medic, brewing potions to heal those injured in the fight, knows she saw things Pippa can’t even imagine.

Knows she saw far more when their camp was attacked in the dead of night, Agatha’s forces too many and too strong.

Knows she spent six months in a bunker on the other side of the world.

There’s a scar on her face that’s never healed, dark magic seared into her skin. Pippa brushes her thumb over it, so soft, and Hecate flinches.

“It isn’t pretty,” she says, slightly breathless, lips swollen from kisses and her eyes bright with something close to happiness.

Pippa shakes her head. “You’re beautiful.”

Hecate closes her eyes briefly. “I meant the rest of it. I’m not—” she starts, falters.

“Not what?” Pippa asks gently.

Hecate stares at her for a long moment, eyes dark and deep, assessing, and Pippa does her best to keep her expression open and honest.

Pursing her lips, Hecate sits back, spine straight, and uncuffs the sleeve of her dress, rolling it up to her elbow.

Pippa swallows her gasp, knows it won’t be welcome, knows Hecate will take it as pity rather than fear and rage.

There are dark marks on her skin, lashes and burns, some red, some black, some white after they’ve healed.

“I’m not whole anymore,” she says, and Pippa knows by the way her voice trembles that she doesn’t just mean her body—doesn’t mean the scars Pippa can see.

Tentatively, watching her face for a reaction, Pippa runs her fingertips along the edges of a rigid scar.

“I don’t need you to be anything other than who you are,” Pippa says, catching her gaze. “You’re enough.”

Hecate shakes her head, opens her mouth like she’s going to disagree, so Pippa kisses her, a soft brush of lips. Hecate kisses her back, deepens it, curls her hand around the back of Pippa’s neck and hauls her closer. Pippa smiles against her mouth, tangles her hands in Hecate’s hair, shifts so she’s straddling Hecate’s lap, so she’s as close as she can get.

Smoothing her hands over Hecate’s shoulders, she brings them down to rest on the first button of her high-collared shirt, and Hecate tenses.

“Pippa…”

“I don’t care,” she says, though that isn’t quite right. She cares too much, wants to know, wants to see all of Hecate, as she is now—wants to love the woman she’s become, and not just a nostalgic shadow from her youth.

Hecate swallows tightly. “Okay.”

Pippa smiles and kisses her again and slowly unbuttons the blouse, watching Hecate’s face for any sign of distress. She untucks it from Hecate’s skirt, unbuttons the cuff on her other sleeve.

“May I?”

Hecate hesitates, then nods, and Pippa gently pushes the blouse off her shoulders. Her hands skin gently over Hecate’s skin, her collarbone and shoulders, just above her breasts.

There are too many scars to count. Some wide and deep, others shallow and mostly healed. Hecate barely moves, doesn’t breathe until Pippa ducks her head and kisses a jagged mark on her shoulder.

“You’re so brave,” she whispers.

“Hardly.”

“You are. You survived.”

“Survival isn’t brave.”

Pippa smiles sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Hecate looks away, eyes unfocused as she stares at her arm, like she doesn’t quite want to look.“I’ve learned to be…” she struggles, settles on, “ashamed of them.”

“Of what?”

“The scars.”

Pippa shakes her head and cups Hecate’s face in her palms. “No, Hiccup.”

Hecate blinks back tears, refused to let them fall. “There were so many. Who fought and died and—they were brave, Pippa. I was—a liability.”

Pippa remembers the rescue, remembers three people died trying to save Hecate and the 20 others Agatha held captive. Remembers the debriefing, how Hecate spent hours in front of the Great Wizard while he demanded to know what Hecate told the enemy.

Nothing.

She told them nothing, and even if she had, Pippa thinks, how could anyone blame her?

“It wasn’t your fault,” Pippa insists. “None of it was your fault. And these,” she touches the scar on Hecate’s cheek. “These prove that. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Especially not with me.”

Hecate exhales shakily, looks like she wants to argue and decides against it, slumping against Pippa, her head on Pippa’s chest, hands curled in Pippa’s dress at the waist.

Pippa blinks back her own tears and wraps her arms as tight as she dares around Hecate’s frame, presses her hand to the back of her head, runs her fingers through her hair.

Hecate shudders, but clings back just as tightly.

“Thank you,” Pippa murmurs into her hair. “For showing me. For telling me. I know it’s not easy for you.”

Hecate pulls back slightly, reaches a shaky hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Pippa’s ear.

“I trust you,” she says, and Pippa smiles.


	4. i can’t make you love me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For professortennant, who requested hicsqueak + “I can’t make you love me."

“I can’t make you love me. Not this time. I realize that now,” she says softly, hands folded nervously in front of her while a part of her hopes,  _hopes—_ but Hecate doesn’t move, doesn’t react, doesn’t look like she’s even breathing, and Pippa closes her eyes against the burn. “I thought maybe if we came back here, if we worked together, I thought maybe you’d remember why we—” her voice cracks, and she shakes her head. “I thought maybe you’d fall back in love with me. Silly, I know.”

Waving her hand, she summons the papers—all signed, a finality in their pristine whiteness that makes her feel sick—and extends them toward Hecate; but she’s so still, doesn’t take them, doesn’t even look at them, and Pippa can’t bear it anymore, her silence, her distance. 

Setting the papers on a nearby table, she summons the best smile she can—weak and trembling. She wants to reach out, to touch her one last time, but she doesn’t dare, knows she’d never leave, and this is what Hecate wants; what Hecate needs, and for the first time in 30 years, it isn’t her. 

“Goodbye, Hecate.”

She turns, bows her head and bites her lip to keep her sobs in place until she’s gone, transferred far, far away; she raises her hand to leave, but there’s a crack behind her that’s almost a word, more splinters than sound: 

_“Don’t.”_

Pippa looks back over her shoulder—stupid,  _stupid_  hope—and Hecate hasn’t moved, doesn’t look any different except that her eyes are bright and wet and her lip is trembling, and Pippa knows that look, knows that sound, how she’s trying, trying so hard to say  _something_. She used to know what—used to read Hecate like a much loved book; but something went wrong along the way, something brought them here, with too much space between them. 

And then Hecate swallows, and when she speaks, her voice is low and tight, almost strangled: “I never stopped,” she says, forcing words out of her mouth and into the light. “I never stopped loving you.” 

Pippa’s eyes sting and she takes a step closer, hesitant. “Then why did you leave?” 

 _The truth,_ she thinks,  _please just this once, tell me the truth._

“Because you deserve better.”

Pippa allows the spike of anger into her voice. “I don’t want  _better_ ; I want  _you._ I’ve always wanted—”

Hecate kisses her, both hands on Pippa’s cheeks, a desperation in her touch Pippa’s never felt before. She kisses like she’s saying goodbye. Like she’s saying don’t go. Like she’s trying to fit all the things she never learned how to say in the press of her mouth and her tongue and her thumbs, brushing over Pippa’s cheeks. Pippa kisses back, winds her arms around Hecate’s neck and hauls her closer, closer, wants to be pressed against her, to banish the space that’s grown and grown and grown and when Hecate moves to pull away Pippa follows, clutches at the fabric of her dress and says,  _please, please—_

“Stay,” Hecate says, breath ghosting over Pippa’s nose. 

Pippa feels hope beat its wings in her chest. “For how long?” 

Turning her head, Hecate stares at the papers on the desk; without letting go of Pippa, without a word, she sets them alight, a small green flame. 


	5. you were my best friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For delicatepoem, who requested hicsqueak + "you were my best friend"  
>  **\- TW: drunk and disorderly**

Hecate unlocks the hotel room and they stumble inside, Hecate holding Pippa’s weight as she sways in her heels. “I’m fine,” Pippa says, trying to brush her off. “Don’t need you to baby me.”

Hecate rolls her eyes, tightening her hold around Pippa’s waist, and ignores the way her words slur together.

“You’re very drunk.”

“‘S a  _party,_ ” she says, allowing Hecate to push her down onto the bed. “‘S  _fun._ ” She glares up at Hecate. “You don’t know how to have fun.”

“Perhaps it’s simply that my idea of fun isn’t embarrassing myself in front of my colleagues and peers.”

Pippa snorts. “They don’t care. They’re my  _friends._ ”

Hecate clenches her jaw, biting back the retort she wants to say and settling for a stiff, “Yes, I could tell by the way they were so quick to care for you.”

“I don’t need care,” Pippa snaps, trying to stand up. “I want to go back.”

“Sit down, Pippa, before you break something.”

“You’re just jealous,” she mutters, even as she slumps back onto the bed, doesn’t protest when Hecate removes her shoes. “You wish you had friends, but nobody likes you.”

Hecate flinches, hard, and fixes her eyes on Pippa’s feet.

“I’d rather have no friends than fake ones,” she says, voice even and controlled.

“They aren’t fake. I’m fine. You just worry too much, about everything.” She purses her lips. “So serious,” she says mockingly, reaching down to poke Hecate’s hair, pulled back in a tight bun. “Even your hair is serious.”

Rising to her feet, Hecate waves a hand to pull down the sheets and maneuvers Pippa under the covers as best she can.

“There’s nothing wrong with serious,” she says, though she doesn’t know why she bothers. Pippa’s eyes are glassy and her limbs are heavy, her coordination nearly nothing.

Pippa snorts. “There ‘s when you push people,” she says, almost a pout. “Leave them standing on their own in front of hundreds of people.” She looks up with a glare. “Coward.”

Hecate swallows, and pulls the blankets gently over Pippa’s shoulders. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a mean drunk?”

“No.”

“Perhaps they should.”

Pippa stares at her, and Hecate quickly turns, moving to the ensuite to get a glass of water for the morning, summoning two pills—not quite as good as a hangover potion, but they’ll at least cut through the headache Pippa is bound to have tomorrow. She can make her own damn potion.

She sets them on the bedside table and waves her hand to turn out the lights. “Try to get some sleep,” she says, and turns to leave, to get out of there before Pippa can say anything else, anything that will ring in her ears for the next week, the next year; but Pippa clamps a hand down around Hecate’s wrist, surprisingly strong, and she stills.

“Hecate.” Pippa’s eyes are wide and damp as she looks up at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

She looks so miserable, so genuinely distressed that Hecate sighs, and shakes her head. “It’s fine.”

Pippa sniffles. “‘S not fine. Nothing is fine.” She blinks up at Hecate in the dark. “I only drank ‘cause you were there. ‘Cause I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how.”

“Perhaps next time you should try ‘well met’ instead of half a bottle of witches’ brew.”

Pippa shakes her head, her hand tightening around Hecate’s wrist. “I was wrong. You have friends. You were my best friend.”

“That was a long time ago,” Hecate says softly.

“I miss you,” she says, and Hecate’s heart aches.

“No, you don’t,” she murmurs, carefully extracting her arm.

“Do to,” Pippa mumbles. “Every day.”

Hecate inhales sharply, and part of her wants to ask—if she means it, if it’s true, if there’s someplace they can go from here—but Pippa’s eyes are already closed, her breathing evened out, fast asleep. She thinks about what could be, in the morning—imagines that Pippa remembers, that she comes after her, that they talk and fight and reconcile and that their 20 year silent feud ends. That they become friends.

That Hecate ruins it yet again by wanting more.

Better, she thinks, to save them both the heartache.

Waving a hand over Pippa’s head, she murmurs a quiet spell, resisting, barely, the urge to touch her cheek, her forehead, to brush her hair back from her face. Instead, she slips out of the room, down three floors to her own, and packs her things. In the morning she’ll be gone, and all Pippa will remember is a nameless, faceless stranger.


	6. circus au + poorly timed confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For matildaswan who requested hicsqueak + circus au/poorly timed confession

Of all the acts, Pippa loves Hecate’s the most. Loves the way fire blooms in the palm of her hand, and the crowd gasps. Loves the way she makes objects appear - a rose, a dove, a cauldron. She lets purple smoke billow from her hands and changes the color of an audience member’s shirt and at the end, calls forth a small rain cloud and shines a rainbow over the rapt group.

They’re small things that bring awe and joy to customers, though Hecate doesn’t see it that way. She doesn’t smile often, says even less, and never, ever reveals her secrets. Even the rest of the troupe don’t know how she does it.

But Pippa knows. Knows that unlike the man who saws a woman in half, unlike the trapeze artist, unlike even herself, who can make lions bow to her whim, Hecate’s magic isn’t an illusion.

It’s real.

She can feel it every time Hecate comes into the tent. The air seems to change, to spark, and no one else realizes.

She keeps it to herself. Doesn’t think anyone would believe her anyway, but it’s not her secret to tell, and Hecate obviously doesn’t want anyone to know.

Pippa doesn’t blame her. Illusions are one thing. Magic, real magic, is dangerous, and there’s no telling what the others would do - what a crowd would do - if they knew.

Hecate keeps mostly to herself, in her own tent pitched furthest away from the main arena. But Pippa has been trying, bit by bit, to get her to open up. She sits with her at lunch and seeks her out after dinner and always tries to watch her performance from behind the curtain. She loves being around Hecate. Loves the calm she exudes, even if it’s strained.

She loves her rare smiles and sarcastic quips and her long long hair Hecate once let her brush. She loves Hecate’s sense of humor and her perpetually pinched expression and her soft, cold hands that once curled around Pippa’s own, on a night much like this as they sat around campfire, talking quietly.

She’s in love before she knows what’s happened.

Hecate is easily her best friend in the troupe, though she gets along with most everyone. She’s known for a while that she cares, cares so much about her, what she’s been through.

It takes a long, long time, but eventually Hecate tells her pieces - how she ran away from a neglectful and angry father who disapproved of magic; her strict teacher who used her like a prop in her own circus, forcing her to do too much, dangerous acts, and darker than Hecate ever felt comfortable with. So she ran, and kept running, and found herself here, a place she almost calls home.

Which is why she doesn’t understand when Hecate finds her shortly before her act, jaw clenched and eyes bright and tells her she can’t do this any more.

“I’m leaving,” she says, and doesn’t say why.

But the next day she’s gone, and Pippa doesn’t understand.

Nothing makes sense, and she drifts through the days. Everything feels wrong without the tingle of Hecate’s magic, without Hecate herself. She loses focus, goes through the motions, can’t get the look on Hecate’s face out of her head, the pain and fear and she thinks maybe, just maybe…

So she writes a letter. Tries to put her feelings into words, to sort them out for herself. She has nowhere to send it to - no one’s heard from Hecate in months - so she writes and writes and when she’s exhausted and red-eyed, sets it on fire and lets the wind take it.

She isn’t paying attention, and one night, the lions know it. See an opportunity. They lunge, and Pippa screams, and the crowd screams, and her hands fly up to cover her face.

Nothing happens.

A ripple passes through the audience, then cheers, applause and excitement and it isn’t until Pippa opens her eyes that she understands why.

Her lions are frozen, one mid leap, and she feels the crackle of static in the air. Turns, and sees Hecate, standing in the ring behind her, hand outstretched.

Slowly, she curls her fingers in, and the lions settle, drift to the floor, and fall asleep.

“Hecate—“

“I received your letter,” she says stiffly, carefully.

Pippa blinks. “I—how did you—?”

Out of thin air, she reassembles pieces of ash, time moving backwards to put together the tear stained page.

“My magic,” she says slowly. “It’s—“

“Real,” Pippa murmurs. “I know.”

Hecate swallows. “And this. What you…said. Is that—“

Pippa’s eyes well up and she nods. “Real.” She tries to smile. “I’ve missed you, Hiccup.”

Hecate stares at her, and stares, and stares, and then her hands are on Pippa’s cheeks and her lips on Pippa’s lips and she’s dimly award of the crowd, of the lions asleep near her feet but all that really matters is that Hecate is warm and soft and  _here._

She wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and kisses her back and feels Hecate’s magic surround them, like a cocoon, where she feels warm and safe.

She opens her eyes, and they’re somewhere else. An open field, the tent small in the distance.

Hecate clears her throat, cheeks red in the pale light. “I thought perhaps someplace more private—“

Pippa beams. “It’s perfect.”


	7. soulmate au + accidentally saving the day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For looped-like-wool who requested "hicsqueak + soulmate au/accidentally saving the day"

Soulmates aren’t real. Everyone knows this. The magic that bonded souls together, if it ever existed at all, died out centuries ago, long before even Merlin. Now it’s nothing more than folklore, sweet stories parents tell their children at night, of lost princesses and old witches, made young again by true love’s kiss.

Hecate has never believed in any of it. Magic, in her experience, has always been selfish. Her own magic always volitile, especially when she was young, until she learned to control it. It’s always kept people at a distance, never once brought someone closer.

No one expect Pippa.

Pippa, who saw her shatter entire windows and stayed.

Who watched her rip trees from the ground and stayed.

Who never, not once, looked at her with fear. Only awe. Admiration. Trust.

Pippa trusts her.

It’s the last thing she said, before her eyes slipped shut.

“You’ll find a way,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

But she hasn’t.

Hecate has tried every potion and spell and chant she knows, has looked in every book, scoured every resource. But the poison in Pippa’s body keeps spreading, turns her skin pale blue, veins black, makes her weak.

It’s been five days, and she keeps getting worse, no matter what Hecate does.

She sits at Pippa’s bedside and holds her hand and reads to her from ancient texts but there’s nothing. No hope.

She stares at Pippa’s pale frame and wishes for something, anything. Would take her place, if she could, in a heartbeat. Even tried a spell, but it failed.

 _Take me,_  she thinks desperately,  _take me instead, why won’t you take me instead?_

It doesn’t occur to Hecate to try true love’s kiss. She knows it’s nothing more than a fairy tale.

But that doesn’t stop her from brushing Pippa’s hair back from her face. From wishing she’d told her. From bending to press her lips to Pippa’s forehead, so soft.

It doesn’t stop the surge of magic or spark of light or wrenching pain in her chest that fades faster than it arrived.

It doesn’t stop Pippa from opening her eyes.

“Hiccup?”

Hecate stares and flounders and doesn’t understand. Why the poison is gone. Why Pippa is able to sit up, hand still curled in Hecate’s own.

Why they’re both glowing faintly, magic sparking in the air around them.

Pippa smiles. “You kissed me.”

“On the forehead,” Hecate says quickly. “I didn’t—“

Pippa squeezes her hand. “I know. Still counts.”

“As what?”

Pippa cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm. “Feel that?”

A rush of magic, bright and beautiful. Like nothing she’s ever felt before. It’s Pippa’s magic, and her magic, together. Indistinguishable.

“How?”

Pippa flushes faintly. “They say soulmate magic binds people together. Makes miracles happen.”

Hecate shakes her head. It can’t be. Even if she’s loved Pippa from the time she was a girl. Even if she’s never loved anyone else. Even if she’s die for her, give up her magic for her, even if it’s always been Pippa and always will be.

“Soulmate magic must go both ways. One person alone is not enough.”

Leaning forward, Pippa brushes her lips over Hecate’s.

“You’re not alone.”


	8. neighbor au + awful first meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For anon, who requested "hicsqueak + neighbor au/awful first meeting"

The community garden on the roof is Hecate’s safe space. She’s the only one who uses it, has spent months transforming it from dry soil and weeds into a lush, thriving vegetable garden, with herbs and tomatoes and a small row of oldeanders, just because.

But when she wakes early one morning to collect peppers for her lunch later on, she finds instead a woman in pink, passed out and clutching a head of lettuce as a pillow.

Fuming, she unceremoniously dumps the water from her can on the woman’s head.

She shrieks, bolting upright with a squeak, dirt on her cheek and clothes and a wild look in her eye, but Hecate merely glowers, jaw clenched, a tight, “Get. Out,” her only greeting.

“What did you do that for?” the woman gasps, pushing her now wet hair back from her face.

Hecate ignores the fluttering in her stomach.

“You ruined my garden.”

The woman blinks, and looks around, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“Oh. Did I—“

Hecate reaches down and yanks the head of lettuce from her hands.

The woman tries to apologize, somewhat feebly, clearly still drunk from the night before. There are red cups and empty bottles strewn over the roof, and the woman blinks up at her. “Were you at the party last night?”

Hecate scowls. She wasn’t, nor was she invited, nor does she care.

“Get out of my garden,” she snaps.

The woman shuffles to her feet and looks around for her shoes, nowhere to be found.

“It’s everyone’s garden, isn’t it?”

“No,” Hecate says curtly, bending to tend to a crumpled cucumber plant. “I’m the only one who uses it.”

“That doesn’t make it yours.”

“Nor does it make it an  _actual_  bed,” Hecate returns **.**

The woman huffs, but eventually clamors her way out of the garden, crunching something underfoot as she goes. Hecate balls her hands into fists and tries not to scream.

“Sorry,” the woman says. It means nothing to Hecate, nothing at all.

It means nothing when she spends the day fixing what can be salvaged, and pulling up what can’t. When she makes note of what new seeds she needs. When she rescues the crumpled oleanders - her mother’s favorite - and presses them into a heavy book.

It means nothing, until there’s a knock on her door, and a fresh-faced, pink clad woman stands in the threshold, holding a paper bag.

“I’m sorry about your garden,” she says, and proffers the bag. “I got you some new seeds. And some vegetables, to replace the ones I…”

Hecate arches an eyebrow. “Drooled on?”

“I do not  _drool.”_

Hecate smirks.

Against her better judgment, she takes the bag.

“Was there something else?”

The woman opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it. “If you need anything, I’m just down the hall. 214.”

“I won’t,” Hecate says, and shuts the door in her face.

Still, she unloads the bag and finds everything she’ll need to start again, even oleander seeds. Oddly observent, she thinks, for a woman three sheets to the wind. And, at the bottom of the bag, there’s a small figurine of a traditional witch with a pinched expression, holding a sign that reads, “ _Leaf me alone_!”

Hecate almost smiles.


	9. florist au + mutual pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For anon, who requested "hicsqueak + florist au/mutual pining"

Pippa doesn’t understand why the flowers in the shop at the end of the lane are brighter or healthier than any others. She doesn’t understand how they stay alive so long, or keep such rich colors.

She also doesn’t understand why the woman who works there, surrounded by pinks and blues and greens and all shades of reds wears black from head to toe and always looks so dour.

She doesn’t understand, but she’s definitely intrigued, enough so that when the first bouquet she bought for herself on her birthday finally wilts, she goes back for another.

The woman in black doesn’t smile, but she seems to know exactly what Pippa wants before she’s even made up her mind.

She goes back a week later to buy another vase full for her classroom, and discovers the woman’s name: Hecate. Pippa thinks it rather suits her, and tells her this, secretly pleased when she flushes faintly and all but kicks her out of the shop.

Pippa keeps making up excuses to go back—needs a Mother’s Day gift (pink, white, and red carnations), a bouquet for a baby shower (crocuses and peonies), blue salvia seeds for a friend.

She learns Hecate knows the meaning of every flower and plant and herb in her shop.

Learns that Hecate hides her smiles, rare and small as they are.

Learns her voice sounds like rolling thunder in the distance, calm and low.

Learns what it’s like to fall in love, petal by petal.

Pippa does her best - she flirts and smiles and asks questions and tries everything to convey to Hecate that she’s interested, but nothing seems to work. She’d thought showing up once a week with a new request - some more plausible than others - would be a sign; but Hecate says nothing.

And yet, sometimes, Pippa looks back over her shoulder as she leaves, and finds Hecate staring after her. (She always looks away.)

“Maybe you just aren’t speaking her language,” an old friend says.

So Pippa goes back to the shop and buys chamomile and clover.

She gets bouquets of gardenias and sprigs of holly, though it’s only June.

She’s in the shop one day when another woman flirts openly with Hecate, and buys a single yellow hyacinth.

She buys marjoram and sage and sorrel and tarragon and every time Hecate eyes her curiously but never asks, until she asks about the purple anemones in the corner of the shop.

“Is—is everything alright?”

Pippa smiles sadly. “I don’t really know yet,” she says.

Hecate neatly ties a ribbon around six gerbera daisies and gives them to her for free. “They symbolize cheerfulness,” she says, her voice oddly soft. “Perhaps they will help.”

A week later, Pippa takes a deep breath, opens the door, and buys one yellow tulip.

“For you,” Pippa says, and Hecate stares and stares and stares and finally takes the preferred flower with wide, confused eyes.

Pippa runs before she can say anything, and the next time she visits, a week later, Hecate disappears into the back of the shop, and returns with a single sprig of white heather.

“It’s just a flower,” she says carefully, a question, and Pippa beams, and takes it gently, reverently.

“Not to me,” she says, and kisses her.


	10. space au + time travel + star crossed lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- For strangesmallbard, who requested "hicsqueak + time travel/space au/star crossed lovers"  
> \- This is basically Doctor Who, hicsqueak style.

The first time they meet, Pippa whispers Hecate’s name in her ear. Not the name she’s gone by for centuries, not the promise she made to herself, but her real name, her true name. Lost to everyone but her, or so she thought.

She’s bright and clever and terrifying and speaks to Hecate like she knows her. Everything about her - her past and her future and everything she keeps hidden, tucked away inside of herself. She grabs Hecate’s hand like it’s the most natural thing, cups her cheek in her palm and whispers  _please, please tell me you know who I am._

She doesn’t. She’s never seen the woman in her life, doesn’t want to see her again. Everything she knows, everything she seems to feel - something deep and abiding and all consuming behind her eyes - terrifies Hecate. Makes her cruel.

Pippa flinches, but she smiles. Smiles, and smiles, and  _flirts,_  which Hecate doesn’t understand. She recognizes it for what it is, but doesn’t know how to respond, hates not knowing.

Not knowing also makes her cruel. She snaps and berates and tries to push Pippa as far away as she can, and then—

The first time she meets her, Pippa dies. On an empty planet, on an iron throne, she takes Hecate’s place and burns through her magic in seconds to save them all.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’ll see me again.”

She cries, just a little, but she never stops smiling.

—

The first time they meet, Hecate whispers her name in Pippa’s ear.

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” she says, and Pippa doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand who this woman is - this woman who fell out of the sky, who saves the day with more cunning and more magic than Pippa’s ever seen. This woman who seems to trust her implicitly, who knows every last thing about her.

Who grabs her hand and whispers, “Run,” and whisks her away through time and space.

She doesn’t understand, but for the first time in her life, she feels alive. With Hecate’s cold hand curled in her own, under skies with more stars than she’s ever seen.

—

They never stay together long.

She has a school to run, people counting on her, but every time she leaves she feels like a piece of herself gets left behind.

She falls before she realizes what’s happened. Falls hard, for the woman with darkness in her eyes and curt words and a heart so warm and soft Pippa feels the overwhelming urge to protect her.

Hecate has enemies, that much is clear. Real, dangerous enemies, entire species Pippa’s never even heard of that want her dead.

So she learns. About distant planets and times and galaxies, species and people at the far ends of the universe. She learns everything she can, everything she can think of to help keep Hecate safe.

She finds her own ways to time travel. Listens to her magic, practices spells that swirl her through time and space. All she has to do is concentrate. To remember how it feels, how she feels in Hecate’s presence - warm and content and bittersweet.

She finds her on battlefields and in castles made of glass. She finds her fighting, Hecate’s magic dark and volatile. She finds her hiding away, afraid and ashamed of herself.

Sometimes Hecate knows her.

Smiles when she sees her, a small lift to her lips that makes Pippa’s stomach curl.

Sometimes, she doesn’t trust her. Locks her out, tells her nothing, keeps her distance.

Sometimes she is brighter than sunlight.

Sometimes, Pippa leaves with her heart in tatters.

—

Sometimes, Hecate goes years without seeing her. Feels a light slowly begin to die. Feels her magic strain for the beat of another’s.

Sometimes she breaks.

Against her better judgement, she seeks Pippa out. Drags her away from her peaceful life on earth and tries to give back what Pippa’s given her - in dances and adventures and restaurants on cliffs made of gold. Gives her books and dresses and a single key, to her room, the only person she’s ever let in.

—

The first time Hecate kisses her, they’re fighting. Pippa appears out of nowhere, as she does, and risks her life to save Hecate.

Hecate is furious. She’s cold and biting and cruel and her hands are trembling, her voice cracking, her magic untethered.

Pippa remains obstinate, argues back and won’t give up and all Hecate can see when she looks at her is an iron throne, hears the echo of her last words.

Pippa doesn’t know, she can’t know, and Hecate can’t tell her so she kisses her instead. With her fingers on Pippa’s jaw and tears clinging to her lashes, she kisses her and tries to say  _I’m sorry. I need you. Don’t die for me._

Pippa kisses back. Wraps her arms around Hecate’s neck and falls into her. Falls, and falls, and Hecate tries to pretend she doesn’t know when she’ll inevitably stop.

—

The first time Pippa kisses her, Hecate runs.

She runs into fire and war zones and catastrophe. Runs from the look in Pippa’s eyes, the heartbreak. She runs from her own emotions, too many to name, roiling in her stomach.

Runs from the tingling in her lips and the desperate need to touch her again.

Runs so far she loops back around, finds Pippa curled up on her bed at home, eyes damp and red rimmed.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and doesn’t know what else to say.

Pippa shakes her head, and smiles. “It’s not you. It’s just—we never meet in the right order. I don’t want this to be our last—“

Hecate shakes her head. “It won’t be.”

“How can you know that?”

Hecate takes her hand, and presses her lips to Pippa’s palm.

“I know everything,” she says, tries to smile. Pippa stares at her, and Hecate swallows, promises softly, “I won’t let it be.”


	11. hp au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon who requested "hicsqueak + harry potter au"   
> \- trigger warning: bullying, physical violence

They corner her in an empty hallway near the potions lab, three of them, one with a hand wrapped tightly around her arm. 

“Let me go,” she snaps, wants to reach for her wand but she can’t, won’t. It would only fuel them, give credence to their spat words and vacant threats. 

She doesn’t think they’d actually act on anything—doesn’t think they’re brave enough—but they stare at her like she’s wretched, wicked and vile and everything they hate, and she swallows down the fear that maybe, someday, they won’t stop. That it won’t just be toppled books and feet stuck out to make her trip. That it won’t be sabotaged potions and stolen work and ripped clothes. 

One of them jolts forward, and she flinches, and the laugh, the sound ricocheting off the walls. 

“Aww,” Holton taunts, slapping her books out of her hands. “The little Death Eater’s afraid of us.” 

Hecate glares, tries to wrench her arm out of Eleanor’s grasp, but she’s strong and fast and holds tight, and Hecate knows she’ll have bruises by tomorrow. 

“Leave me alone,” she says, again, but it’s fruitless, and Eleanor shoves her up against the wall, back scraping the hard stone. 

“Shut up,” she hisses. “No one in my family had a chance to beg—you don’t get one either.”

Hecate swallows, tries to protest, and then Eleanor is reaching for her wrist, yanking up the sleeve of her cloak, and Hecate panics. Fights back. Tries to shove the girl away, but Holton grabs her other hand and Eleanor is pulling, pulling—

“Hey!” 

They freeze, look up. 

“Get the hell away from her.”

They stand there, momentarily stunned, and Hecate uses their pause to wrench herself away, or try. Eleanor grabs her again, shoves her shoulder, but at least her cloak is down around her wrists again, and Pippa—

Pippa is glowering at them, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched and Hecate sees Holton swallow. Sees Eleanor roll her eyes. The other boy - she doesn’t know him - chances a look at the other two, unsure. 

“Lay off, Pip,” Eleanor says. “It’s not your problem.” 

“You’re torturing my friend,” Pippa says, stalking closer, an anachronism—bright pink peaking out from behind her robes, her blond hair in a pretty braid, and so much venom in her eyes, in her words Hecate can hardly breathe. “That makes it very much my problem.” 

“Her?” Holton scoffs. “She’s not worth your time. Walk away, Pentangle.” 

Pippa glowers. “You first.” 

They pause, the three of them, and Hecate understands why. Besides herself, Pippa is the best at everything. At charms, at potions, at flying, at defense against the dark arts. There’s no doubt in Hecate’s mind that Pippa could be dangerous, if she wanted to be—but she doesn’t understand why she’d use that to protect someone like her. Someone she’s never spoken to. Someone who isn’t really her friend. 

Holton breaks first, huffing. “Fine.” He turns back to Hecate with a glare. “Watch yourself, Hardbroom,” he says, before he walks away, followed by the other boy, followed by Eleanor, who pushes Hecate one more time for good measure, makes her stumble. 

“Freak,” she says. 

Hecate glares back but says nothing, just waits until they’ve turned the corner to gather her books, her bag. She bends over, but her hands are trembling so badly she can barely hold on, and her wrist aches, and then there’s a soft voice beside her, 

“Here, let me get those.” 

Pippa gathers her things and cups a gentle hand under Hecate’s elbow, helps her stand. 

“Are you alright?” 

Hecate stares at her. “Why did you do that?” 

Pippa frowns. “What was I supposed to do? Look the other way?” 

Hecate shrugs. “Most people do.” 

“Yeah, well. I’m not a fan of most people,” Pippa says. “You’re Hecate, right? I sit in front of you in charms. I’m Pippa.” 

She nods slowly. “I know,” she says, then flushes faintly, wonders if Pippa knows how many times a day she gets distracted by the light on Pippa’s hair, the way she twirls her quill, the sound of her voice. 

But Pippa only beams, and hugs Hecate’s book tighter to her chest. “Were you on your way back to the common room? I can walk with you.” 

“To the dungeons?” 

Pippa smirks. “I’m not afraid of a couple of Slytherins.” 

“I—that’s not—” Hecate shakes her head. “You really shouldn’t be seen—” 

“I’ll be seen with whomever I like,” Pippa says firmly. 

“You’re not afraid to associate with a Death Eater?” 

“I’d be terrified to associate with a Death Eater,” Pippa confesses. “But you aren’t one.”

“How do you know?” 

“I have good instincts about people,” she says. “And you don’t strike me as the type.” 

Hecate nearly rolls her eyes. “A winning argument.” 

Pippa smirks. “I’ll work on my thesis,” she says. “But for now—common room?”

Hecate nods, but hesitates—the common room isn’t any better, not for her, and she doesn’t quite trust Pippa enough to go where she usually does, away from everyone, her hiding place. 

Somehow, Pippa seems to know, because she shrugs and says, “Or we can go up to the tower for a bit, if you want to study together? There’s no one up there this time of day.” She leans in, like it’s a secret. “Holton especially is afraid of the bats.” 

Hecate almost smiles. “I like bats,” she admits.

Pippa grins. “Me, too. So?” 

Hecate hesitates, then slowly nods. “If you’re certain.” 

“I’m certain,” Pippa says decisively. 

Hecate isn’t sure how long Pippa will be certain for—how long before Hecate becomes too much. But she’ll take this day. Even if it’s just today—it’ll be enough.


	12. wwii au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon, who requested "hicsqueak + wwii au"

It was supposed to be a simple drop. Give a woman in a bar a list of names. Get in. Get out. Move on.

It wasn’t supposed to be this: Hecate’s hand splayed over her ribs, Hecate’s lips against her hair.

It wasn’t supposed to be one drop, then two, then five. She wasn’t supposed to be a regular.

But the patrons like her - like that she flirts with them and lets them buy her drinks. They wait for the day one of them will take her home. They take bets on who it will be.

Pippa knows this, and says nothing.

As the months go on, her hand begins to linger on Hecate’s each time she passes the names.

She claims to love the Fraulein’s voice. Says it reminds her of her mother’s.

But Hecate sounds nothing like her mother. Her voice is low and sounds like smoke, when she sings, and when she speaks, soft in Pippa’s ear.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

She’s an ally, yes—has been since the start of the war. Her dark hair and dark eyes make her suspect, dangerous, but she sings so sweet for the German soldiers, they look away.

Look away, and look away, and look away, until they don’t.

Until it’s Hecate’s name on her list of targets, people who need safe passage.

Pippa grips her wrist and begs, “Come with me,” but Hecate refuses. Says she’s needed here.

“The children need me,” she says.

Pippa licks her lips and holds Hecate’s cheek in her palm. “I need you.”

Hecate doesn’t answer, except to kiss her, hold her.

“I love you,” Hecate says, but it isn’t a promise to stay safe.

There’s no such thing now, Pippa knows, but she grips Hecate tightly all the same.


	13. chocolatier au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for matildaswan, who quested "hicsqueak + charlie and the chocolate factory au" but got "chocolatier au" instead ♥

It takes Pippa six months to gather enough courage to actually walk into the chocolate shop. She passes by it every day on her way to class, sees the outline of Hecate in the window - still tall, still slim, still dressed all in black, her hair done up in a bun. Still beautiful, the way she’s always been, but they’re older now, and Pippa knows despite her best intentions, distance has only made her heart grow fonder. 

She has a million questions - how Hecate ended up here, in the little French village where she’s been studying abroad. How she got into confectionery, of all things. Whether this is all just happenstance or coincidence or fate. Whether there’s some divine intervention screaming at her to take this chance, to go in, to find out how and when and why. Why she left. Why she disappeared. Why she broke Pippa’s heart. 

Every day, she passes by, smells the rich cocoa and sugar, and her mouth waters. Somedays, she pauses by the window and stares. Somedays, the older woman who runs the shop smiles at her from the window, and beckons her inside. It takes her six months, but one bright day, the older woman smiles, and holds up a piece of chocolate - a truffle, or a biscuit, she isn’t sure - and Pippa takes a deep breath. Opens the door. Walks inside. 

It’s cool and clean and smells so good. The older woman smiles. “I was wondering when you might come in,” she says, and Pippa nods. 

“Actually,” she says, tries to keep her voice steady. “I was hoping I might speak to your assistant?” 

The woman smirks, like she knows. “I’m certain she’d quite like to speak to you, too,” she says, calls back into the shop in French - Pippa pieces some of it together, but her accent is heavy and Pippa’s brain is short circuiting, her heart trembling, throat dry as there’s a shuffle in the back room, a soft voice, and then—

She comes out from behind the counter. Smiles shyly at Pippa. Holds out her hand. 

Pippa stares. Heart stalls. 

It isn’t her. 

Isn’t Hecate. 

The girl is tall and slim and dressed in black and beautiful but it isn’t Hecate, has never been Hecate, and Pippa feels all the color drain from her cheeks, feels light headed and weak and she barely manages to stammer her apologies before she flees.

She finds a new route home, one that doesn’t smell as sweet.


	14. vampire au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for leftcircle, who requested "hicsqueak + vampire au"

_Please_ , she thinks desperately,  _please no. Please, god, no._

Hecate is still in her arms, cold, as she always is, her eyes closed and head heavy against Pippa’s arm. Pippa shakes her, cups her cheek in her palm and whispers her name, her voice strangled, tears in her eyes.

“Wake up,” she begs, shakes her harder. “Wake up, damn it.”

She pulls her closer, body heavy in her lap, and runs her hand over Hecate’s shoulders, her chest, her stomach. Her hand comes away red, too red, and she nearly gags. Focuses her magic, what little of it she has left. Summons the small, deadly bullet, tries to draw it out. She feels the wound move under her palm, feels it strain, and she stretches her magic harder, further.

“Come on,” she whispers. “Please, don’t—”

The bullet rises, enough that she can pull it out, fingertips stained and she tosses it away, far away, presses her palm back over the open wound and concentrates on sealing it. If she can just focus, if she can do this, everything will be alright.

Hecate will be alright.

A bullet can’t kill her, she knows that.

Knows, and yet—

She’s so still, limp in Pippa’s arms.

Her vision blurs, and she has to blink rapidly to see, to clear the tears from her eyes. They won’t do any good, not here, not now. Only her magic, frayed at the edges and waning, can help, and she pushes through the exhaustion. If she can close the wound. If she can stop the bleeding. If she can just give her a little bit of fight, she knows Hecate will do the rest. Knows she’ll come back to her, the way she always has.

“Come on, Hiccup,” she whispers. “Come back to me.”

She doesn’t know if it’s her voice, or her magic, or simple pure luck that makes Hecate’s eyes flutter open. Her voice is scratchy, weak, but so beautiful, a barely whispered, “Pipsqueak?” that forces a watery laugh from her throat.

“I’m here. I’m here, Hecate.”

Hecate’s hand reaches out, fumbles, and Pippa quickly takes it, holds it tightly.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Hecate shakes her head.

“I removed the bullet, it’s okay,” she says, and Hecate forces a smile.

“Sacred,” she says, and coughs, red staining her lips. “Blessed by a priest.” She grimaces. “Quite deadly.”

Pippa frowns, shaking her head. “No, no, I removed it,” she says again. “It’s gone. You’ll be fine.”

Hecate takes a shallow breath. “It’s in my blood.”

“But—but your magic. Use your magic.”

Instead of answering, Hecate lifts her hand to Pippa’s face, fingers so soft, so cold against her jaw, a barely-there touch that makes Pippa’s chest ache.

“S’okay,” she says, her voice slurring.

“No. No, it’s not okay, you—you can’t die. I won’t let you.”

Hecate almost smirks. “As if you have any choice in the matter, Pentangle.”

Pippa bites her lip. Bites her lips and clutches Hecate’s hands and thinks of everything she’s ever read about witches, about vampires, about blood loss. Thinks of what she knows of blessed items. She knows every way there is to kill a vampire.

She’s never needed to know how to save one.

“No,” she murmurs again. “There has to be a way. There has to—” Her voice breaks. “I just got you back.”

Hecate’s eyes close for a long moment, too long, and Pippa stops breathing.

“Hecate?”

She shakes her, and Hecate opens her eyes again, tries to smile. “It’s alright, Pippa. I promise. I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re ready,” Pippa snaps, “Don’t you dare leave me after all this. Don’t you  _dare._ ”

Hecate sobers, inhales weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, fight,” she says. “Tell me how to heal you.”

“There isn’t a way.”

“There has to be. Magic, a cure, something. Your said your blood was poisoned. You need new blood. You need—”

She stops, looks down at Hecate, who won’t quite meet her gaze.

“Mine.”

Hecate coughs again, body jolting with pain. “No.”

“My blood is magic. It can heal you.”

Hecate shakes her head again. “No, Pippa.”

“Why not? Because it won’t work?”

Hecate opens her mouth, and Pippa glowers at her, grips her tighter.

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Hecate doesn’t answer.

“That’s it, then.” She shifts, tries to pull Hecate further up, so they’re eye level. Hecate doesn’t help, doesn’t move, except to press her hand against Pippa’s chest, to push her away.

“No. I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I’m giving you my permission. I  _want_ you to—”

Hecate turns her face away from Pippa’s neck, her jaw tight as she grits her teeth. “Don’t. Please,” she whispers. “I don’t—”

“You won’t hurt me,” Pippa promises, cupping her cheek in her hand and turning Hecate’s face back to hers. “I know you. I trust you. Even if you don’t trust yourself.”

“Pippa—”

“Please,” she begs.

Hecate doesn’t move, stares up at her with wide, unblinking eyes, and Pippa reaches up, pulls her hair back from her neck. With her magic, she draws a thin cut, keeps herself from wincing at the pain, gathers a drop of blood on her fingertips. Before Hecate can protest, she presses them to Hecate’s lips.

Hecate shudders—at the taste, at the feel of her, she doesn’t know—and tries to lean back; but her tongue darts out, and Pippa shivers.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, drawing Hecate closer, holding her tight, one hand against the back of her head as she guides Hecate’s lips to her neck. “It’s okay, Hiccup.”

“No,” she says, but she’s too weak too move, and Pippa’s holds her there, feels Hecate’s breath over her skin, her lips soft.

“Let me save you,” she murmurs, curling her fingers around the back of Hecate’s neck. She can feel Hecate’s entire body trembling, with exertion and exhaustion and, Pippa thinks, sheer force of will. But she doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want Hecate’s stubbornness or her self-sacrifice. “Just this once. Let me save—”

She stops, voice cut off on a gasp when Hecate’s tongue licks at her skin, over the cut, and she seems to waver, muscles in her back pulled taught even while her grip on Pippa’s elbow is loose and weak.

“Pippa.”

“I know, darling. It’s okay. I trust you,” she repeats. “I trust you.” And then, half-broken, “Please.”

It’s too much, or maybe just enough, because Hecate lets out a whimper, and then Pippa feels her teeth sink into her, sharp and yet somehow delicate, reluctant, even as Pippa cranes her neck to allow her better access.

It feels strange, not entirely unpleasant, and Pippa closes her eyes, nearly smiles. It’s hard to speak, but she smoothes a hand over Hecate’s back to let her know she’s alright, that it’s okay.

It’s only a moment before Hecate tries to pull back, tries to wrench herself away but she’s still too weak, and Pippa shakes her head.

“Don’t stop.”

“Pippa—”

“I’ll be fine,” she promises, guiding Hecate’s head back to her neck. “I promise. I’ll be—”

She hisses at the bite again, harder this time, at the pull of her skin, and this time, Hecate doesn’t stop. Pippa isn’t sure if it’s because she isn’t strong enough yet, or because she simply can’t, but she doesn’t care either way.

Even when her head starts to feel light, her hands clumsy.

Even when her fingers start to tingle, her vision blurring slightly around the edges. She holds Hecate close and says nothing, just breathes deep, and hopes, prays, she’ll be alright. That this will work.

Hecate’s hand tightens on her arm, and Pippa takes that as a good sign—that she’s healing, that she’s growing stronger, and that’s all Pippa wants. For her to be okay.

For her to live.

Even if Pippa doesn’t.

Her head spins and begins to ache and she can feel her heart rate pick up, fast and thready. She closes her eyes to keep the dizziness at bay.

The last thing she remembers is Hecate’s voice, distant and beautiful, like thunder.


	15. war au (part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon, who requested "hicsqueak + ‘Don’t fucking touch me’", and for both missy-poppins91 and delightinpetrichor who requested “look at me - just breathe, okay?”  
>  **\- trigger warning: ptsd, emotional trauma; references to violence, torture, war, physical abuse**

Pippa hasn’t stopped grinning. Her eyes are wide and full of wonder, a look of awe and rapture in her face that makes Hecate feel soft despite it all. **  
**

The Opera House is stunning, she has to admit. Though she doesn’t care for the hoards of people, the loud noise, the way the acoustics amplify the smallest sound. She can hear glasses clink and snippets of conversation, children running and laughing around the lobby. It makes her teeth clench, but Pippa’s face, her joy, makes up for it.

Makes up for the spike of pain that ratchets down her spine when someone bumps into her. Makes up for the dull ringing in her ears. Makes up for the stares, the occasional hushed whisper.

She’d tried to blend in. Worn a dress that covers every inch of her skin, but it’s softer, black and a bit more ornate than she usually wears. Braided her hair and left it in a single plait down her back, to keep the headaches at bay.

But there’s a scar on her face she can’t hide, and the cane she uses to walk draws attention. She glowers at everyone who so much as looks her way, but it’s exhausting. The microscope.

Still. Pippa is nearly vibrating with energy next to her, and every time Hecate looks at her, she can’t help the small smile that creeps in, the warmth that fills her.

She looks stunning. In a blush pink dress with a low back, a bit more sparkle than usual, her hair done up in a loose bun, a few strands framing her face. But it’s her smile, Hecate thinks, that’s the most beautiful.

The way she looks around the hall, mesmerized. The way she grins in delight when the bell chimes, and people begin to find their way to their seats.

Hecate waits until most of the crowd has disappeared, and Pippa seems content to stand with her, pointing out various dresses she likes, the windows, the arches.

When the crowd is thin enough, Hecate leads Pippa to their seats upstairs, and Pippa gasps, marvelling at the elevator.

“I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these,” she whispers, and Hecate isn’t quite sure if it’s true, or if she’s trying to deflect from the fact that stairs are too much, too difficult for Hecate’s legs and back. If she’s trying, like she always is, to brighten Hecate’s dour mood.

Hecate shakes herself. Tonight is about Pippa, making Pippa happy. She offers a small smile, and her arm when the elevator doors open.

Pippa beams, resting her hand lightly on Hecate’s elbow, leaning into her space.

Pippa’s always been tactile. Was the only person Hecate could stand to touch for a long time. And it’s been hard, the last six months. Hecate, flinching every time. She knows Pippa takes it personally, even if she hides it. Knows it hurts her, even if Hecate doesn’t entirely understand why.

But Hecate knows she relishes in the contact, and she’s tried to be more accepting. Tries to find ways to touch Pippa, to let Pippa touch her without pain.

It isn’t that she doesn’t want the touch, doesn’t crave it. Doesn’t wish every night Pippa were beside her. But every time she comes close to being comfortable, she remembers. The scars, and the dark magic seared into her skin.

She doesn’t want pity. Couldn’t stand it if Pippa looked at her that way, looked at her differently than she did before.

She knows Pippa must have seen some of them at the hospital, but she’s never said a word and Hecate’s been too afraid, too ashamed to ask.

Instead, she hides. Covers herself from head to toe, as she’s always done. Even though the fabric of her favorite dresses rub at her skin and her stockings feel like sandpaper. Even though wearing her hair up gives her headaches. She hides, from everyone, from her own reflection in the mirror.

Hides from Pippa, who, for the first time in months, doesn’t look stressed or worried or devastated.

She looks peaceful, joyful, her hand on Hecate’s arm and her eyes wide as she takes in the theater, the stage, the ceiling, the balconies.

“How did you get these?” she asks, settling next to Hecate in the box seats she’d purchased. “They must have cost you a fortune.”

They did, but Pippa doesn’t need to know that. “I know someone who works here,” she says, and it’s technically true, though they were of no help. Not that Hecate asked.

“Is it alright?” she asks, and Pippa beams, leaning in to press a brief kiss to Hecate’s cheek.

“It’s perfect, Hiccup,” she murmurs, then, slightly embarrassed, “but you didn’t have to do all this.”

“I wanted to,” she says, though it isn’t quite true. She doesn’t want to be here - with the noise and people and stares. She’d rather be at home, where it’s safe and quiet.

But she owes Pippa this. Owes her…everything. She knows one night can’t possibly make up for the last six months, but it’s a start, she hopes.

Hopes Pippa will see it for what it is—an apology.

Pippa has barely left her side. Since the day she woke up in the hospital in Berlin. Since the day she was discharged and returned to Cackle’s. She’s been a constant presence, supportive and compassionate and patient and Hecate… Hecate has been none of those things.

Curt, and downright cruel at times. She’s pushed Pippa away more times than she can count. Told her she doesn’t need her, doesn’t want her. Told her to leave.

Pippa refused. Even with tears in her eyes, she stayed. Stays, and stays, and stays.

Hecate shifts, and her spine protests, wounds that haven’t quite healed pulling at her skin, and she winces.

Pippa frowns, reaching for her, then stops short and pulls away, hands fidgeting in her lap. “Are you alright?”

Hecate nods. Stares at Pippa’s hands, so warm and gentle. Thinks of her own words, not a week ago, a sharp,  _Don’t touch me_  she hadn’t quite meant.

She meant that it hurt. That even the softest touch in the wrong place made her head spin and her vision blacken, but Pippa hadn’t taken it that way. Had pulled away, stung, and Hecate hadn’t bothered to correct her. Hadn’t bothered to explain.

She hasn’t explained anything. Hasn’t told her about the nightmares that keep her awake, how every time she closes her eyes, she sees Agatha’s face, hovering. Sinister. Hasn’t told her about the way her arm aches from leaning on the cane. Hasn’t told her how much she hates it, hates using it, hates being seen with it. How weak it makes her feel. How broken.

She hasn’t told her how many times she’s been summoned by the Great Wizard to tell him what she knows. That she doesn’t know anything. That she didn’t say anything, and never would. She doesn’t tell Pippa about the truth serums they give her or the tests they put her through. Hasn’t told her how it feels, when they look at her with distrust.

How it feels when Pippa looks at her, like she’s some kind of fallen hero.

She isn’t a hero. At best, she’s an almost-casualty, nothing more.

Hecate closes her eyes and takes several steady, measured breaths; but in the dark, the conversations around her sound like shouting, remind her of the press, hounding Cackle’s her first weeks back, interrogative questions shouted up at the windows and flashbulbs and she wrenches her eyes open, tries to center herself.

There’s no one here that knows her. No one asking questions.

Her hands tremble in her lap and she remembers Pippa, stomping out into the courtyard, snapping at journalists to leave her alone. Pippa sending sparks of bright light back in their faces, a nearly growled,  _See how you like it_  that Hecate never thanked her for.

She hasn’t thanked her for any of it.

“Hecate?”

Her voice is soft, worried, and Hecate searches for an answer.

She’s saved by the lights dimming, a voice over the PA making announcements.

The quiet helps. She tunes out the voice and focuses on her breathing, until the strains of music reach her ears, a familiar piece.

The curtain rises, and she hears Pippa gasp next to her, remembers late nights as students, curled up on Pippa’s bed, Pippa making lists of all the things she wants to see and do, together.

 _The ballet,_  she’d said one night.  _At the Royal Opera House._

Hecate had frowned, looking up from her textbook.  _Why there? We have a witching company._

Pippa shook her head and smiled.  _But I want to see a real ballet. Not with magic. Magic makes it easier._

 _More efficient,_  Hecate said, and Pippa laughed.

_Maybe. But it takes the wonder out of it. Non magical people, they do the same thing with no help. It’s incredible! Don’t you think, Hiccup?_

_I suppose._

_I want to see Swan Lake._

_Tchaikovsky’s?_

Pippa nodded.  _The ending can change depending on the performance. Sometimes she lives, sometimes she doesn’t. And you never know until you’re there._

Hecate thinks back to a week ago, in her rooms, when she’d hesitantly proffered the tickets to Pippa.

_I’m sure you’ve seen it by now, but…_

Pippa stared at her with wide eyes.  _I haven’t. I always—I wanted to go with you._ Hecate had nodded, and Pippa had beamed.  _Really?_

It’s the surprise Hecate remembers, the surprise that settled like a knot in her chest. That Hecate would do something for her, something kind.

She supposes she deserves it.

After months of biting words and cold silences, supposes she deserves Pippa’s disbelief.

But they’re here now, watching a party scene, the soft strains of Tchaikovsky filling the room.

She keeps one eye on the performance, best she can, but mostly she finds herself watching Pippa. Her delight, her wonder.

Pippa sits on the edge of her seat during the first pas de deux, and Hecate can’t help but smile.

Pippa catches her gaze and flushes, leans in to whisper, “Isn’t she beautiful?”

 _Yes_ , Hecate thinks, but doesn’t say. Merely nods, and ducks her head when Pippa claps loudly at the end of the scene.

The chair is uncomfortable, not made for sitting up straight; the cushion is soft, but feels unsteady, and she has to use her abdominal muscles to keep herself centered. The scar at her hip pulls uncomfortably.

She tries not to think of how she got it. Tries not to remember Agatha’s delight.

Focusing, she turns her attention to Pippa, smiling brightly at the dancers, and she thinks that makes everything worth it.

She smiles so little, now, and Hecate knows that’s her fault. It’s her words and her obstinance and her refusal to accept Pippa’s help.

She wishes she knew how.

Wishes she could talk to her, to tell her the truth but every time she tries it feels like breaking. She isn’t entirely certain if she lets go, even for a moment, if she could piece herself back together again. Not this time.

She thinks sometimes she’d have been better off, never leaving that bunker.

Thinks Pippa would be better off, too.

When the second act is over and they file out for intermission, Pippa can’t stop talking. About the costumes and sets and movement and music.

“Have you ever heard anything like it?” she asks, all brilliant smile.

Hecate hesitates, then admits, “I used to play it for my mother.”

Pippa blinks. “Play what?”

“The main theme. It was one of her favorites.”

Pippa looks like she has a million questions, and Hecate turns away. She doesn’t know why she mentioned it - certainly doesn’t want to talk about it - but when she risks a glance at Pippa, she’s smiling softly, says only, “That’s wonderful,” and leaves it at that.

Hecate offers her a weak smile in thanks, and Pippa offers to get them drinks. She nods, watches as Pippa disappears through the crowd to the bar.

Her back aches, her hand sore from gripping the cane, but she forces herself to stand as straight as possible, to keep her expression neutral.

But there’s a gorgeous woman at the bar, leaning into Pippa’s space, smiling broadly. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and touches Pippa’s arm and it’s clear even to Hecate that she’s flirting with Pippa. And yet, Pippa does nothing. Her smile is polite, but nothing more, and she leans away, puts her drinks between them and when she returns, huffs dramatically as she hands Hecate a glass of wine. “I thought she’d never stop talking.”

A knot settles in Hecate’s stomach.

“Perhaps you should have talked back,” she says before she can stop herself, and the bite in her tone isn’t meant for Pippa; it’s for herself, her own shortcomings, her guilt. Too scared to let Pippa in, too selfish to push her completely away.

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Pippa flinch.

“I’m here with you,” she says.

 _Maybe you shouldn’t be,_  Hecate thinks, bites down on her tongue to keep the words inside.

Sighing, she tries to mend the sudden tension, an awkward, “I only meant, she seemed lovely.”

“Maybe,” Pippa allows. “But I’m not interested.”

Hecate doesn’t understand why. Why Pippa seems to have put her life on hold. What she’s waiting for. But she’s too afraid to ask, terrified of the answer, whatever it may be.

Hecate looks down at her feet, the cane in her hand, the edge of a scar creeping out from under her sleeve, and says nothing.

The bell chimes, a saving grace, and they return to their seats. Pippa keeps glancing at her worriedly, and Hecate doesn’t know how to reassure her. What to say to make it better.

They sit in silence until the lights go down, the curtain comes up.

Hecate keeps her gaze fixed firmly on the dancers, their steps, the control and grace in every moment.

She used to have control. Over her body, her mind, her magic. Now, everything feels scattered. Everyday she feels like some thread slips away, keeps her grasping desperately at nothing, trying to stay in charge.

She isn’t. Has nothing and no one to be in charge of, not even herself. Her students are scattered, still, there’s no work to be done or distraction to be had. She’d returned to Cackle’s because it’s the only home she’s ever known, but it feels more and more empty every day. Just her and Pippa and all the empty rooms.

Pippa leaves sometimes, takes a few days to return to her own school, to assist the war efforts, to get away. But she always comes back. With a smile, and usually something for Hecate - a box of ginger biscuits, a notebook, a new quill. Something to make her smile.

Sometimes Hecate manages it. Sometimes it makes her feel coddled. Feel like a child, bribed with treats to smile for the camera. She knows Pippa doesn’t mean it that way, hates that she takes it that way.

Hates that she craves the attention, the devotion, even as she rejects it.

Hates that Pippa has seen so much weakness, and stayed.

Shifting, Hecate winces as her side pulls, looks away from the stage to find Pippa watching her instead of the performance. She frowns, and Pippa offers a tentative smile before turning back to the dancers.

It’s a pas de deux, the black swan, and Pippa watches, rapt, a hand over her mouth as Odette tries desperately to catch her prince’s attention.

Hecate breathes deeply, closes her eyes for a moment, tries to center herself.

She tries to listen to the music, but the more she concentrates, the more it begins to change. Becomes less soothing. More grating. She opens her eyes, but it doesn’t help. Still sounds less like violins and more like static, the ringing in her ears that accompanied the blast when they blew the door down. Sounds like hexes being thrown and repelled, sounds like screaming.

She shakes her head, wills herself into the present but it’s too loud, too much. She squeezes her eyes shut and sees a blast of light and smoke.

_We’re gonna get you out of here._

She tries to speak, but her throat is raw and her mouth too dry. She manages to hold out her hands, thick chains imbued with a magical suppressant shackled to her wrists.

The man in front of her undoes them easily, and she feels a surge of magic claw at her skin, weeks of build up sparking out and tearing at the air. She can’t stop it, can’t hold it in but he doesn’t seem to care.

Hands grip her arms, drag her from the cell. Her muscles scream and she cries out, knees buckling. Someone picks her up. Starts running. She can hear orders shouted and obeyed but she doesn’t understand the words, just the end, the screams,

_Fall back, fall back!_

Sees a man fall, hit the ground and still. Sees wide, dead eyes stare up at her as they run by. She can’t do anything. Can’t help. Can’t save him.

Can’t save any of them.

She could, if she were in control. If her magic were settled, if she could think, if she could breathe.

There’s a blast of light and the man holding her stumbles, falls to his knees.

 _Go,_  he says.  _Go now._  He presses something into her palm.  _Follow it to the rendezvous point. Now._

She stares at the compass, feels the magic inside it, inside herself, bubbling over. Stares at the man with blood on his chest, on her hands.

_No._

She hovers over him instead, searches for her power, feels it crackle, untamed, but if she could just focus, just for a moment—

_Get her out of here!_

Hands pull at her, drag her back, and someone is screaming as she tries to stay, she wants to stay, she can help him, she can help him—

_He’s gone! We have to go!_

He isn’t moving, isn’t breathing, and Hecate chokes, feels bile in her throat and a slickness to her hands, stares until they’re out of sight, until they reach a point far enough outside the bunker to transfer away, to escape.

Hecate blinks and feels her eyes sting, her vision blur. Her leg throbs and her back feels like it’s on fire, the crackle of electricity running through her, of foreign magic, dark and sharp.

The music swells but it sounds like laughter, Agatha’s bitter words, her mockery,  _I’ve always known you were weak,_  electric pulses through her veins, her bones, muscles spasming, whips of magic along her arms and back like cuts.

She bites her lip so hard it bleeds, tastes blood, remembers: blood in her mouth, in her hair, Agatha’s hand on her jaw, lifting her head.  _You will tell me everything._

Her other hand digs a bruise into Hecate’s thigh.

Hecate grips her leg to stop it from trembling.

_Everything you know, Hecate._

_Hecate._

_Hecate._

“Hecate?”

She blinks. The audience is clapping. The dancers are bowing. Pippa is staring at her with alarm.

“Hiccup, are you alright?”

Her heart pounds too loudly, too fiercely, to be heard over.

She thinks she manages to say  _I’m fine._  To say  _excuse me_  before she stumbles out of her seat and beyond the curtain, down the hall and and outside, to the balcony, where it’s dark and cold and raining and she gasps, feels the air hit her lungs like ice.

Everything hurts. Her body and her mind and her heart aches but she pushes it down, leans against the wall and digs her nails into her palm to ground herself.

_She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over._

She repeats the mantra to herself, barely feels the rain bite at her cheeks. Just focuses on the pain in her hand, drawing her attention away from the pain everywhere else. If she could just catch her breath, just breathe, everything will be fine.

_She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over._

There’s a pressure on her hand, the sharp pain disappears, turns to something heavy and warm, but no less grounding. She clings to it, desperately, hears a voice far away,

“Look at me, Hiccup. Look at me.”

She opens her eyes and sees Pippa, standing in front of her, already soaked to the skin, her hand in Hecate’s.

“Pippa—“

“I’m fine. Just breathe, darling. Just breathe.”

Hecate swallows, her voice trembling and hardly more than air. “You should go back inside.”

Pippa shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hecate wants to protest, feels the edges of biting words creep up her throat; but Pippa merely stares at her, soft and determined, and for once, Hecate can’t summon the will to push her away.

She can still hear the echoes of screams in the cars that pass by, sees red when she blinks, feels her legs trembling and her heart beating erratically.

Pippa squeezes her hand and steps closer, rests a careful hand on her bicep, shields her from the outside world.

“I’m right here, Hiccup.”

_She’s home. She’s safe. It’s over._

Hecate nods, leans into Pippa just a touch, just enough.

“Do you want to go home?”

Hecate shakes her head. “The show—“

“Can wait.” Pippa catches her gaze and holds it. “Do you want to go home?”

Hecate swallows. Rain drips down her nose, her cheek. Pippa’s hair is plastered to her skin and it would be nothing more than a simply drying spell to make them presentable again, but the thought of the music, the crowd, everything, makes her skin itch and her eyes well and she hates it, hates being so weak, but she nods, and Pippa smiles. Squeezes her hand.

She sends a quick glance around the balcony - there’s no one there - and transfers.

It takes four jumps to get back to Cackle’s, and by the time they make it back, Hecate is exhausted. Everything hurts, her limbs are heavy, and her knees buckle, enough that Pippa wraps her arm around Hecate’s back and murmurs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She’s too tired to push her away. Even as she helps Hecate to sit on the bed. Even as she dries both of them, waves a hand to change both their clothes to sweatshirts and pyjama trousers. As she lights the fire and makes tea and Hecate bites down on her lip to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry,” she manages, barely a whisper.

Pippa frowns, turning back and handing her a cup of tea. “What on earth for?”

 _Everything,_ she thinks.

“The ballet. You missed the ending.”

Pippa smiles. “An excuse to go back,” she says, like it doesn’t matter. Like Hecate didn’t ruin her evening, the last six months of her life.

“Don’t,” she says, clenching her fist against her thigh. “Don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”

Pippa sits on the bed next to her and carefully uncurls her hand, holding it between her own.

“You’re what matters,” she says simply. “You’re what I care about.”

“Why?”

It tumbles out before she can stop it.

Pippa’s eyes are bright and she lifts a hand, slowly, carefully, hesitating a moment before she cups Hecate’s cheek in her palm, rubs her thumb over her skin.

“You really don’t know?”

She can’t breathe, but it’s almost a good kind of breathlessness, a slow sinking revelation as Pippa stares at her, so soft. Hecate clutches her teacup, takes a shaky breath.

“Pippa, I—“

She tries, but she doesn’t know how to say  _I want you_  and  _I can’t_  in the same sentence, in a way that makes sense.

Instead, she takes a deep breath, asks,

“Will you stay?”

Pippa nods, dropping her hand from Hecate’s cheek to rest on her knee. “I’ll make up the couch while you—“

“No, I—“ Hecate falters, unable to meet Pippa’s gaze. “Here,” she says, staring into her tea. “Stay here.”

Pippa’s silent for a moment. “You’re sure?”

Hecate nods, relief filling her as Pippa waves away their mugs, lifts the blankets so they can crawl under them, together.

Hecate keeps her back to her, curled in on herself, small as she can. She feels Pippa shift onto her side, and after a moment, there’s a gentle hand running over her head, through her hair, again and again. The touch is so light, so tender, Hecate shudders, and Pippa stops.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, I—“

“No,” Hecate whispers. “It’s—fine.”

 _Please don’t stop,_  she wants to say, but the words get stuck and she hates herself for it.

Pippa seems to know. Without words, without even a glance, she resumes the steady, gentle motion, running her fingers through Hecate’s hair.


	16. you don't have to stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon, who requested "hicsqueak + you don't have to stay"

“You don’t have to stay.”

Hecate stills, the hand tentatively reaching for Pippa’s arm curling back against her thigh. Cold sweeps down her spine and she clutches the blanket tightly against her chest, feels, for the first time, naked and exposed. She’s gotten used to being vulnerable in Pippa’s presence, but it’s always a comforting kind, where she knows she’s safe; now, she feels shattered, at such simple words, spoken so casually. Like it all meant nothing.

Licking her lips, Hecate stares up at the ceiling and forces herself to ask, “Do you want me to go?”

Her voice stays steady even as her hands tremble.

She feels Pippa glance over at her from her side of the bed. “I—I assume you have things to attend to at Cackle’s.”

Hecate shuts her eyes and refuses to cry. Not here, not now. Not when Pippa is watching her, evidentially waiting for her to leave.

“Of course,” she manages, though it barely comes out as a whisper.

Swallowing tightly, Hecate sits up, holds the blanket to her chest and turns quickly. Her magic is unsteady, pulsing under her skin, but she manages to at least summon her clothes closer to her feet, even if the pile is haphazard.

She slips her bra on first, then her underwear, trying her best to stay shielded by the blankets.

She hadn’t cared ten minutes ago. Ten minutes ago she’d been smiling, pressed against Pippa in all the ways she’d always dreamt of. Ten minutes ago she’d felt like she was standing at the precipice of something new and precious, and for the first time, wasn’t afraid.

She’s afraid now. Afraid to look at Pippa, to see the regret on her face, the pity. Afraid she’ll find nothing there—no fondness, no love.

She struggles with her blouse, hands shaking as she tries to button it as quickly as possible.

“Hecate…”

She flinches at Pippa’s hand on her shoulder, reaches for her skirt. She can deal with the buttons later, after the first transfer. She’ll go somewhere quiet, somewhere she knows is dark.

“Shall I let you know when I’ve arrived or will you be asleep by then?” she asks, too sharply, too much bitterness giving her away.

Pippa always asks. Asks her to let her know when she makes it home, especially when she transfers. Told her that she worries about the long distances, about the strain it puts on Hecate’s magic.

Hecate wonders if that will change.

Knows that it has to.

That everything will change now.

That she’s lost not only the start of something, but caused the end of something, too.

“Hecate,” Pippa says again, almost pleading, and Hecate pauses, her hands stilling in the zipper of her skirt before she lets them fall to her sides.

She can’t turn around. No matter how terribly she wants to see Pippa, wants to look at her one last time, she can’t bring herself to turn.

“Hecate, please look at me.”

Hecate shuts her eyes. If she turns, Pippa will know. Pippa will read her, so easily, will realize her mistake, will undoubtedly try to make things better, make things right, but they can’t be put right. Can’t go back.

Not when Hecate loves her so much. Not when she’s wanted her for so long, felt too much, always, since they were children.

Not when Pippa doesn’t feel the same. Not when it meant nothing to her.

She feels like she should apologize. Should repent in some way for wanting too much, for grasping too tightly, but the words get stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she knows she has precious few minutes left that she can hold herself together.

She starts at the hand on her arm, opens her eyes and sees Pippa standing in front of her, still naked, her expression pained.

“I didn’t mean—I wasn’t asking you to go,” she says, and all the air leaves Hecate’s lungs in an instant. “I thought you might not want to stay.”

Hecate stares at her, her bright eyes, luminous in the moon-bent shadows.

“Why would I want to leave?”

Pippa sniffles. “If you regretted—“

“Do you?” she asks, skin burning through her blouse where Pippa holds tightly.

Slowly, Pippa shakes her head. “I could never regret being with you.”

Hecate feels something like hope unfurl in her chest. Tentatively, she lifts a hand to Pippa’s face, breath escaping in a rush when Pippa instantly tilts her cheek into the touch.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks again, barely brave enough; wouldn’t be, without Pippa’s warmth against her palm.

“No.”

It’s barely a whisper, but it’s enough, and Hecate bends, kisses her softly, feels a Pippa press herself in tighter, a hand on her hip drawing her in.


	17. please come get me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for ephemeral-winter, who requested "hicsqueak + please come get me"

Her mirror chimes in the dead of night. She’s bent over her books, her room completely dark save the small lamp on her desk, and for a moment, she thinks she’s imagining things.

No one ever calls her.

She has no friends, no family. No one to check in now and then. Anything from the university comes by post or maglet, and Miss Broomhead merely summons her when she wants something.

Hecate frowns, but the mirror on the other side of the room, and she can hear the faint strains of what sounds like music - the pulsing, repetitive kind she hates - in the background.

A drunk caller, no doubt. Someone slurred their words, or simply couldn’t focus their magic well enough, and Hecate glares at the mirror for interrupting her. If she doesn’t complete these equations by tomorrow morning, Broomhead will be… angry feels like an understatement, but it’s the only one she’s willing to confront.

She’s about to silence the chime when she hears a voice, loud and familiar, calling over the music.

“Hecate?”

Hecate freezes. She knows that voice - would know that voice anywhere - and her heart skips.

“Pippa?”

Her tongue feels stuck to the roof of her mouth as Pippa calls her name again, and Hecate slowly rises from her desk and crosses the room to the mirror on her wall, the one she avoids looking at every morning.

The scene on the other side of the mirror is dark, but Hecate still inhales sharply when Pippa comes into view. She’s dressed up, in an off the shoulder pink dress, her hair wavy around her face, makeup heavy. But it’s smeared, and even in the dim light Hecate can see the tear tracks on her face, and her heart pounds.

“Pippa?”

Pippa sniffles and swipes a hand under her nose, her gaze fixed on Hecate’s neck or shoulder.

“Are you—are you busy?”

It’s the first thing Pippa’s said to her in years, besides her name, and it tugs at Hecate’s chest. It’s ridiculous and anticlimactic and she doesn’t care, has to curl her fingers into fists to keep from reaching out to touch Pippa’s cheek in the mirror.

But she lost that right, so long ago, gave it up for this—for Pippa. So she could fly. So Hecate could run.

Squaring her jaw, Hecate tries to smooth her expression, to seem unconcerned and unaffected.

“I was asleep,” she says tersely, a lie—but Pippa doesn’t need to know that.

Pippa bites her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Evidently you did, as you have,” Hecate interrupts, wants Pippa to get to the point, wants this conversation over, wants so, so badly to say I’m sorry, I miss you, please let me come back.

Pippa shakes her head and looks away. “This was a mistake,” she says, almost to herself, and raises a hand to end the call.

She can’t go, she can’t, Hecate isn’t ready, needs more time to sear her image into her memory, needs to hear her voice, beautiful despite its wavering.

“I’m awake now,” she says quickly, too quickly, and Pippa pauses. Lifts her eyes to Hecate, and for the first time, Hecate sees the swirl of emotions there. She’s drunk, that much is obvious, but she’s also nervous, possibly afraid, and Hecate swallows down the knot in her throat. “What do you need?”

Pippa’s eyes water and she looks away, biting her lip for a moment. “I’m—it’s my birthday,” she says, dejected, and Hecate’s heart lurches.

She’d forgotten.

Between her lectures and coursework and Broomhead’s additional teachings, she hasn’t had time to remember much of anything besides work and magic. But this is the first year since they were eleven years old that she hasn’t remembered. Hasn’t fought the urge to buy her something. To send her a card. To call.

As usual, Pippa has beaten her to it.

“And?” Hecate inquires, tries to keep her tone blase and her expression blank.

PIppa sighs. “And I’m—I’m out and I’m celebrating and it’s great. Everything’s great.” She smiles but it’s crooked and harsh. “I’m having the time of my life.”

“Then why are you calling?”

Pippa blinks rapidly. “Because—because I don’t….I can’t—”

And then she’s crying, tears slipping down her cheeks and her neck even as she frantically wipes them away.

“I’m stuck,” she says finally. “I’m here, at this stupid club and my friends are—we’re all drunk and the bartender keeps trying to—and my boyfriend broke up with me on my birthday and I’m tired and I don’t want to be here anymore but I can’t transfer and my friends won’t leave and I just—I just—”

Hecate stares at her. Watches as she sniffs and tries to stem her tears, tries to look defiant even as she breaks apart, and Hecate loves her.

Loves her still, even after all these years.

Foolish girl, she hears Broomhead say, and winces. Half expects her to appear in her room, to cut the line, to take even this brief moment of Pippa away from her.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about that,” she says slowly, not unkindly by her standards. But Pippa flinches and sniffs and glares at her.

“You would if you were still my friend,” she says.

Hecate flinches, but it’s deserved, she knows, and sighs, resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“It’s late, Pippa,” she says, even as her heart screams at her to keep her talking, to keep the line open as long as she can. “If you want to fight about something that happened five years ago, can we do it at a more reasonable hour?”

Pippa blinks, and her lip wobbles, and Hecate sighs.

“Pippa—”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called, I just—I’m drunk and it’s awful and I just wanted my—I wanted my—”

She doesn’t finish, but Hecate hears the end of the sentence, where her voice falls away. She sounds so desperately sad, so heartbroken, and Hecate can’t stand it, never could.

“What do you need, Pippa?” she asks again, softer this time, gentle as she remembers how to be.

Pippa hesitates, the pounding of a bass in the club behind her, screaming and bright lights and so much noise Hecate has to breathe slowly, evenly. Then Pippa looks down, looks away, and Hecate barely hears the whispered, timid,

“Please come get me.”

There isn’t a world in which Hecate could or would ever say no.

Broomhead will know—she always knows—but Hecate doesn’t care.

“Where are you?”

Pippa gives her the city and the name of the club—she’s on the other side of the country, but it’s only five jumps, three if she stretches her magic. Nothing she hasn’t done before, and Miss Broomhead has been pushing her in her transference, harder jumps and longer distances.

For the first time, it will come in handy. With a quick change of her clothes, Hecate makes the jumps, and less than half an hour later finds Pippa standing on the curb outside a packed nightclub.

They lock eyes across the street, and for a moment, neither moves, neither breathes. Hecate stares at her, the way the streetlamp and lights from the club cast shadows on her face, remembers just how beautiful she is, has always been.

Pippa takes a step forward, and her ankle rolls, and Hecate transfers across the street, catches her easily before she falls, and then they’re close, so close, and Pippa looks up at her, eyes wet and bright.

“You came.”

Hecate nods, but doesn’t trust herself to speak.

A tear streaks down Pippa’s face, and she reaches up, touching Hecate’s cheek lighty, briefly.

“You came.”

Always, Hecate thinks, doesn’t say, just wraps an arm around Pippa’s back and makes certain she’s steady.

“Come on, Pipsqueak,” she murmurs. “I’ll take you home.”


	18. bodyguard + bed sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon, who requested "hicsqueak + bodyguard + bed sharing"

Pippa has always known Hecate is a powerful witch. More powerful than she lets on. She’d mastered highly advanced spells long before they started at the academy, learned to transfer on her own their first year, when most weren’t taught until the age of 18.

She could have done anything - worked for the Magic Council, taught highly advanced witches at a private school, become a world famous potions expert.

Pippa doesn’t know what made her go into security. She made that choice after they parted, dreams of co-running a school together dashed in their last year of the academy, when Hecate stopped speaking to her.

She knows Hecate is good at her job - the best. Knows she’s protected some of the most important and elite witches in the world; even the Great Wizard requested her as his personal bodyguard, a lucrative and prestigious position.

Knows she turned him down.

Knows that for some reason, she’s here instead. Protecting Pippa.

She’s been receiving threats for months, anonymously. They’ve grown in number and severity, started with vague messages on her Maglet, escalated to photographs and death threats and she doesn’t know why, or from whom.

At first, she’d hated having Hecate around. She’s like a shadow, always there, rarely speaks, simply follows Pippa, eyes always scanning their surroundings, on alert even in the most innocuous of places.

It’s been frustrating as hell, not to mention her own fears, warring with her obstinate that she doesn’t need a babysitter. When they do speak, they fight. Hecate’s words are clipped and brutal but her expression never changes. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t react to the barbs Pippa throws her way.

She doesn’t mean most of them. Just wants Hecate to react, to show some kind of emotion. Fear or anger or, she knows, deep in her heart, some semblance of affection.

Some sign Hecate still cares for her beyond that of a charge.

That she remembers how close they once were.

That she wants that again.

She doesn’t get it.

Not for months. Not when Hecate intercepts all her maglet messages, not when she enters every room before Pippa, not when she refuses to allow her even a modicum of privacy, except her own room.

It’s the only place Hecate doesn’t follow.

She searches it every night, places protective spells on the doors and windows, waves a hand over every pot of tea or bite of food Pippa eats to check for tampering.

But she doesn’t seem to care.

Not until six months in. Not until Pippa goes to sleep one night and wakes with a start, the room somehow darker than she remembers. The air feels heavy, and she knows something is wrong even before there’s a hand on her throat, a body pinning her to the bed, and she tries to scream. Can’t make a sound.

There’s a cloth pressed over her nose and mouth and she tries not to breathe in, tries to claw at the faceless man and she thinks, wishes desperately, Hecate were here.

And she is.

There’s a crack like lightning and the next thing she knows the man is gone; there’s a thud, and sparks, and she can hear shouting, but her mind is foggy and she scrambles off the bed as a hex slams its way across the room.

Pippa helps and ducks and the next thing she knows there’s a barrier around her, shielding her. Magic lights up the room and she can see there’s three men, not one, all of whom are focused on Hecate.

She screams as a jolt of magic flies at her, but Hecate deflects it easily, sends it careening off the mirror and back at the man who sent it. At the same time, she ducks, and sends her own magic back, a red crack of light that slams into the third men and sends him flying across the room.

All the while, she holds the barrier, barely breaks a sweat, and it’s over before Pippa can get her bearings. Hecate winds a rope of light around two, then three of the men, holding them together.

“Who are you?”

Her voice is low but the anger there is palpable, a rage Pippa has never heard from her, or anyone.

The men don’t answer, and Hecate’s eyes narrow, and one of the men begins to choke.

“I asked you a question.”

They struggle, trying with all their might, combined magic to get free but Hecate doesn’t move, doesn’t seem fazed.

“You have 10 seconds,” she says, and the second man’s eyes go wide, breath coming in gasps. The other man is turning blue, and the third yells at her to stop.

“Five seconds.”

“Hecate,” Pippa tries, but her voice is hoarse and scratchy, barely audible.

“We don’t know!” one manages. “We just got paid - a target - didn’t ask—”

“Useless,” Hecate seethes, and her magic sparks. A man screams in pain.

“Hecate,” Pippa tries again, trying to stand. “Hecate stop.”

Her eyes flicker to Pippa, her expression dark and unreadable save for the anger. Her eyes are nearly black.

“Please, Hiccup,” she begs.

Hecate blinks. Her eyes clear, and for a moment, Pippa thinks it’s over.

Then she turns back, her eyes flash red, and all three men collapse to the floor.

Pippa screams, covers her mouth with her hand, and Hecate secures the tether to the floor. Without a word, she steps over the men and checks the room for anyone else before returning to Pippa’s side.

“Are—are they—”

Hecate purses her lips. “Unconscious.”

Pippa exhales. “Good. That’s good, that’s—”

She can’t breathe.

She looks at Hecate, wide eyed and for a moment, afraid—but Hecate would never, not her, and she knows it.

“Hic—Hiccup—”

She feels the barrier drop, feels herself fall forward. Feels Hecate’s hands, so gentle, on her shoulders.

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “You’re safe. You’re safe, Pippa.”

The last thing she remembers is Hecate’s arm around her waist, and everything goes black.

—

She wakes up someplace unfamiliar, and yet not.

She’s never been here before, doesn’t recognize the austere room, the dark furniture, the crackling fire.

Her neck hurts, and it takes her a moment to remember why.

She gasps, eyes filling with tears as it comes rushing back - the night and the men and Hecate,  _where is Hecate, where is—_

“I’m right here.”

The mattress shifts, and Hecate places a hand on her arm, tentatively.

“Are you okay?”

Hecate frowns. “I believe that’s my question.”

Pippa lets out a wet, somewhat hysterical laugh. “No,” she says. “I’m not—I don’t—”

Hecate hushes her softly, and presses a cup into her hands. “Drink this. It’ll calm your nerves.”

She does as she’s told without question, immediately feels the phantom hands around her neck begin to fade, her heartbeat slow to a steady rhythm.

She downs the rest of the cup quickly, and Hecate vanishes it, drawing her hands back into her lap. Pippa misses her touch desperately.

“What—where are we?”

Hecate pauses. “My home,” she says after a moment. “You’ll be safe here.”

Pippa looks around the room again, and understands. Why it felt so familiar. She can feel Hecate’s magic permeating every corner, but it’s soft and warm and heavy, like a wool blanket.

She feels so tired.

“What happened? To the—those men—”

“They’ll be fine.” She doesn’t sound happy about it. “My team took them away for questioning.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll find out who’s behind this,” she says, her voice softer than Pippa has heard in years. 

Pippa nods, but it’s mechanical. She can’t quite think straight. Keeps seeing Hecate, her eyes so dark, the way she controlled every ounce of her magic, the power in every spell.

“How did you know?”

Hecate looks away. “The alarm went off,” she says. “It alerted me that someone else was in the room.”

Pippa frowns. “I didn’t hear it.”

“It’s a silent alarm.”

Pippa thinks she’s lying, but doesn’t press. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you?”

Hecate jerks her head. “I’m fine.”

She looks back at Pippa, her eyes falling to her neck. Pippa resists the urge to shrink away.

“Let me see,” Hecate says, voice gentle. Pippa hesitates, then tucks her hair behind her shoulder. Hecate’s eyes narrow, her shoulders tensing, barely repressed anger Pippa can feel in the air.

“Is it bad?”

Hecate doesn’t answer. Instead, she lifts her hand, slowly, cautiously, and lets it hover over Pippa’s skin. It tingles for a moment, and then the soreness is gone.

Hecate withdraws. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“No!”

Pippa bites her lip.

“I mean. I’m fine. We can go.”

Hecate shakes her head. “Your school is on lockdown,” she says. “Until I know how they got past my wards, you aren’t going back.”

Pippa makes a token protest, but Hecate silences her with a glance.

“Besides. You need rest.”

Pippa shakes her head. “I don’t think I can.”

Hecate hesitates. “I can go. If that would…make you more comfortable. I’ll be right outside.”

Pippa hates the tears that steak down her face, the helpless desperation in her voice. “Please don’t. Don’t go.”

Hecate nods. She summons a chair and a book and sits at the side of the bed - Hecate’s bed, Pippa realizes - and waits for Pippa to lie back down. She waves a hand and draws up covers.

“Can you leave the lights on?”

“Of course.”

She tries to sleep, she does, but every time she closes her eyes she sees faceless men, towering over her. Feels a weight on her chest. Angry, red eyes staring out at her from the dark.

She whimpers, and buries her face in the pillow.

“Pippa?”

She bites her lip and doesn’t answer, doesn’t want Hecat to hear the fear in her voice, doesn’t want her to know how terrified she is.

“Pippa, look at me.”

She refuses. After a moment there’s a sigh, and then silence. It drags, and Pippa squeezes her eyes shut.

She wants Hecate.

Wants her friend, who always knew what to say and do. Wants the girl with kind, sad eyes and quiet brilliance.

The girl she fell in love with.

But Hecate isn’t that girl anymore. Doesn’t feel the way she did then, she’s made that clear.

And then, so quiet:

“Do you remember when we were girls…you were terrified of thunderstorms. You used to sneak into my room, or I into yours.”

Pippa wants to sob. Wants to be left alone, to cry her heart out but she can’t let Hecate leave. Can’t bear the thought of being without her. She sniffs, and nods, but doesn’t reply.

After a long moment, Hecate’s voice softens even further. “Would…what we did then. Would that help now?”

Pippa stills. There’s hesitation in Hecate’s voice, nervousness and fear and, she thinks, hope. Compassion.

Something else she dares not name and she knows it’s stupid. Terrible for her heart, but she’s nodding before she can tell herself not to, and a moment later, the bed dips. She feels Hecate settle next to her, leaning against the headboard. She doesn’t touch Pippa, save where her leg is pressed to Pippa’s back.

There’s a shuffle, a hint of magic, and then, Hecate’s voice, so warm and soft:

_“ ‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,’ grumbled Jo, lying on the rug._

_‘It’s so dreadful to be poor!’ sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress._

_‘I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty things, and other girls nothing at all,’ added little Amy with an injured sniff._

_‘We’ve got Mother and Father and each other,’ said Beth contentedly from her corner—”_

Pippa lets out a sob and turns over, burying her face in Hecate’s neck. She can’t help herself - her voice, and the book, Pippa’s favorite as a child, and Hecate  _remembers_  and she can’t stop herself from clinging to Hecate, wrapping her arm around her, nose pressed to her cold skin.

Hecate tenses for a moment, then relaxes. Slowly, carefully, she draws her fingers through Pippa’s hair, the way she used to do.

“I’ll find him, Pippa,” she promises, vehement and low. “I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Pippa inhales shakily and clings tighter. She can’t speak - doesn’t know what to say if she could - and after a moment, Hecate clears her throat.

_“The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, ‘We haven’t got Father, and shall not have him for a long time.’ She didn’t say perhaps never, but each silently added it, thinking of Father far away, where the fighting was…”_


	19. please listen to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for anon, who requested "hicsqueak + please listen to me"

Hecate isn’t quite sure what she expected to happen. It’s the first conference they’ve attended together, staying in the same hotel, in the same room under Pippa’s name. She’d booked them a suite, far more lavish than Hecate would ever indulge in, but she can’t deny it’s been nice, to have a place to retreat to when the crowds become too much and the socializing begins to grate at her nerves.

She’d known Pippa had her own agenda for the conference - modern workshops and seminars and luncheons with the upper echelons of society. She’d mentioned trying to shop around her most recent article on modern pedagogical exercises in chanting (an article Hecate had read, edited, and eventually grudgingly admitted was logically sound), and bemoaned a meeting with the CEO of some company or other, a man who’d donated a significant amount to Pippa’s school.

Hecate had her own schedule as well, sticking to the larger panels, mostly there to observe and listen and perhaps, if she has the time, attend a seminar on alternative teaching methods for ‘alternative students,’ though she would hate to be recognized at such an event.

(Still, her students come first, even when her students include the likes of Mildred Hubble.)  

She’d known they would spend a significant amount of time going their separate ways. But she hadn’t expected Pippa to be quite so distant.

She hasn’t invited Hecate to any of the lunches she’s attending, despite complaining about how handsy Arnold Moonshine always gets when he thinks she’s single. Hasn’t introduced her to anyone during the breaks, hasn’t sought her out for a quick word, hasn’t touched her at all - not even a fleeting brush of her hand against Hecate’s arm, the way she always does when they’re in public at either of their schools.

She tries to be grateful for it. Tries to reason to herself that drawing attention to themselves as a couple would be a disastrous idea, and it’s not as though it’s anyone else’s business besides.

But a louder, childish part of her, feels wounded. That Pippa evidently doesn’t want anyone to know they’re together. That she’s either ashamed or embarrassed to be seen with Hecate in such a public forum.

She understands why. Hecate knows she isn’t liked much out of very small, traditional circles. Knows even there she’s the odd one out, too awkward and too brusque to really connect with anyone. She’s been relatively lucky, that her life isn’t predicated on who she knows. She’d taken the potions mistress post at Cackle’s early on in her career, and Ada had taken a shine to her, for reasons Hecate still doesn’t quite understand.

Pippa, she knows, has had to build her reputation, her school, her life from the ground up. Yes, her name gave her some advantages, as her family has always been well-liked by most, but there’s no denying she’s worked hard, to cultivate the right relationships, to be seen with the right people, to learn what to say and how and when to say it.

Hecate doesn’t possess those skills. She’s too blunt, too sarcastic, too unwilling to cater to the people around her. And Pippa knows that. Knows that she’d be a hindrance rather than a help; that she’d inevitably say something and alienate someone and all Pippa’s hard work would be lost.

So Hecate keeps to herself. Follows Pippa’s cues and during the day pretends they’re nothing more than colleagues, barely friends.

At night, Pippa returns to the room far later than Hecate, exhausted, and her mask slips away. Her shoulders hunch and she smiles weakly, but genuinely, for the first time all day.

Hecate quirks her lips when Pippa collapses, still in her clothes, and curls up on the sofa, her head in Hecate’s lap.

“I hate conferences,” she confesses, nuzzling her head into Hecate’s hand when she begins carding her fingers through Pippa’s hair.

“I can see why,” Hecate murmurs, setting aside her book.

Pippa sighs heavily. “At least the funding for the east wing is in order.”

Hecate raises her eyebrows. “Already?”

Pippa snorts. “Dryfus is easy,” she says. “Pay him enough compliments and buy him lunch and he’s yours.”

“Dryfus,” Hecate repeats, trying to place the name. “Dryfus Ellington?” Pippa hums in response. “He’s an idiot.”

“A  _rich_ idiot,” Pippa mumbles.

Hecate purses her lips but says nothing. There’s nothing to say - she understands why Pippa does it. Why she needs the money - for expansion, for supplies, for scholarships. It’s the latter she’s the most invested in, Hecate knows, trying desperately to make her school affordable to everyone.

But it’s private, isn’t funded by the council the way Cackle’s is, and a steady source of funding is necessary to keep Pentangle’s up and running.

It doesn’t mean Hecate always agrees with her methods, but she can’t imagine what she would do differently.

Pippa sighs in the silence, turning on her back to look up at Hecate. “I know you don’t approve.”

Hecate falters, then continues brushing her fingers through Pippa’s hair. “It isn’t that.”

“No?”

“I disapprove of the fact that it’s necessary,” she says. “But I think no less of you for it.”

Pippa’s lips quirk in a smile, and she catches Hecate’s hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” she says. “Tomorrow we’ll stay together.”

Hecate swallows. “That’s not necessary. I realize you have more important things to do.”

Pippa frowns. “I’ve made all the arrangements I needed,” she says. “It took me a day longer than I’d have liked, but—tomorrow I’m all yours.”

She smiles, and Hecate’s stomach drops.

It isn’t worth it. Pippa works too hard to have every relationship she’s developed unravel in Hecate’s presence.

“I… appreciate the offer,” Hecate says carefully, “But I understand.”

“Understand what?”

Hecate works her jaw, trying to parse her words, to sound careless and unaffected. “I’m not exactly the most popular person in these circles.”

Pippa sits up, faces her with her legs crossed and a hand on her arm. “So?”

“So… I understand the need for distance. You’ve worked hard to cultivate these relationships. My presence would only serve as a hindrance.”

“That’s not true.”

Hecate arches an eyebrow. “Is that not why you’ve been pretending we’re merely colleagues?”

Pippa’s frown deepens and she pulls away, settling her hands in her lap. “I haven’t been—” She stops, and stares down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

She’d hoped, vainly, that perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps Pippa had another reason for avoiding her—but she can tell by the guilty expression on her face, the way she wrings her hands together that she wasn’t wrong at all.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Hecate says. “I’m aware of my reputation. I’m aware of the damage it would do to yours.”

Pippa falters, opens her mouth several times and finally says, “It’s just a game. It’s a stupid game I have to play to keep my school running, and these people care so much about names and status and I need them to—”

Hecate ducks forward and kisses her briefly, softly, stemming her words. “I know.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” she says. “It has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”

Hecate doesn’t quite believe her, but nods regardless. “I know.”

Pippa blinks rapidly. “You’re not angry?”

Hecate offers a small smile. “I’m fine, Pippa. Truly.”

–

She isn’t fine.

It hurts, watching Pippa across the hall, knowing for certain now that she’s being, to borrow Pippa’s phrase, shunted. To know it’s on purpose, to serve a goal.

She understands, doesn’t fault Pippa for it, but for the first time, she wishes she were more palatable to people. Wishes she could turn herself off for a while, could be normal, could be like everyone else.

Settling into her seat, she hates that she glances around for Pippa. Hates that she finds her just two rows back, sitting next to an older woman that Hecate can tell just by looking at is wealthy. Pippa catches Hecate’s eye and smiles briefly, and Hecate nods back, then turns in her seat to face the podium.

The first presentation is duller than the ones her students give, and Hecate lets herself tune out the drone of his voice and uninteresting (and unoriginal) findings.

People in the audience have begun to whisper, and there are two women in front of her who catch her attention, heads bent together as they look over the schedule.

“Pentangle’s leading a workshop?”

“On modern magic,” the other says derisively. “There’ll no doubt be singing involved.”

“She had to cancel the last one she signed up for. Too busy screwing her way to the top, I’d imagine.”

Hecate freezes, blood cold as she stares at the back of their heads, jaw clenched.

“That’s not very nice,” the other whispers back, and the first woman huffs.

“Well it’s true. How else do you think she gets all that funding for her ridiculous school?”

“Or perhaps,”  Hecate says quietly, pleased when both women jump and turn, startled, “manipulating the petty and disingenuous out of their money is easier than you would like to believe.” She fixes her gaze on the second woman. “You’ve donated a significant amount in the last year to Catshead Academy, have you not?”

The woman - Miss Belltower, she knows - stammers, but the other she doesn’t recognize recovers after a moment and lifts her chin, her voice still quiet in the large ballroom, “That’s interesting coming from you, Miss Hardbroom, as I was under the impression Miss Pentangle endeavored to take your headmistress’ place in much the same way.”

Hecate’s anger flares, her voice a bit too loud, “Ada Cackle would never—”

“I’m not talking about Miss Cackle. You are sleeping with Miss Pentangle, are you not?”

Silence or aversion is as good as a yes, and Pippa doesn’t want people to know. Doesn’t want that association, so she lifts her chin and says clearly,

“No, I am not. Though I fail to see how that’s any of your concern.”

Miss Belltower turns away, and the other woman contemplates for a moment before saying, “I suppose it isn’t. But perhaps you should pay closer attention to rumors, Miss Hardbroom. It would be a pity to lose your upstanding reputation to one…mistake.”

She arches an eyebrow before turning back in her seat and fixing her gaze pointedly on the presenter.

Hecate has no idea what she means or even how to go about finding out. She’s always done her best to keep herself above gossip, beyond who’s retiring and who’s publishing and what posts are open at various academies.

But Pippa knows. Pippa knows everything, makes it her business to know, to keep her head above water, and Hecate clenches her teeth in irritation.

She can tolerate being ignored for the sake of Pippa’s school, for Pippa’s students. She can handle the twisted feeling in her gut that perhaps Pippa is embarrassed to be seen with her. But she cannot abide secrets, or being kept in the dark, and it’s soon after the panel is over that Hecate finds Pippa in the hallway, chatting amiably with another witch.

“Pardon me, Miss Pentangle,” she interrupts, caring little for the annoyed glance the other woman gives her. “Might I borrow you for a moment? Miss Cackle has a few questions on modern pedagogy she asked me to have answered while I’m here.”

Pippa frowns, a bit confused, but smiles and makes her excuses and turns to Hecate, voice lowered in the crowd. “Is everything alright?”

Hecate glances around to ensure no one is paying them any attention, then transfers them both to an empty conference room and shuts the door with a wave of her hand.

“Hecate?”

“I’ve had an interesting conversation with a friend of Miss Belltower’s,” she says. “Evidently our relationship isn’t as private as you’d like.”

There’s a moment, a brief flash of panic in Pippa’s eyes that Hecate’s certain no one else would catch before she frowns.

“I haven’t heard anything,” she says, but it’s a lie, bold and brazen, and Hecate arches an eyebrow.

“So you’re unaware that some people believe you’re only sleeping with me in an attempt to assume Miss Cackle’s position as headmistress?”

It’s an indelicate way of putting it, Hecate knows, especially if Pippa truly hasn’t heard the rumor; but she has, Hecate can see it on her face, the way her mask breaks for a split second, the horrified look in her eyes, but without surprise.

“I—” she starts, and Hecate snaps.

“Don’t lie to me, Pippa.”

She blinks, startled, and shakes her head. “I’m not trying to lie to you. I just—it’s idle gossip, it means nothing.”

“It means something, or you would have told me about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she insists. “Yes, I’m aware of it, but I didn’t think telling you would do any good. I know you don’t like gossip to begin with and it’s nothing more than that.” She pauses, frown deepening. “Unless—you don’t believe it, do you?”

Hecate huffs. “Of course not.”

“I’m serious, Hecate. You don’t believe I’m with you because I want something, right?”

Hecate sighs, her anger dwindling in the face of Pippa’s palpable fear. “No, I don’t believe it,” she says firmly. She isn’t always quite sure why Pippa is with her, but she knows it isn’t because of that. “But if I’m going to do my part and deny any rumor that we’re together, I need to know what those rumors are.”

“You told someone we weren’t together?”

Hecate frowns at the surprise in her voice. “Miss Belltower and her…friend.”  Pippa looks shaken, and Hecate doesn’t understand. “I thought it’s what you wanted.”

Pippa blinks and nods. “No, of course, you’re right. It’s better this way.”

“Pippa—”

“That was quick thinking, though I’m sorry to have put you in that position.” She smiles too broadly. “Once I’ve locked down sponsors for next year’s scholarships, I’m sure we can tell people. If you want.”

Hecate tries her best not to flinch. Tries to pretend that the words, their implication, make no difference to her. That being hidden in the shadows for the sake of appearance doesn’t tug at something inside her, doesn’t tongue at her insecurities.

But Pippa must see it, because she’s across the room in seconds, a hand on Hecate’s arm. “Hiccup—”

“It’s fine, Pippa,” she interrupts, unable to stand the concern in Pippa’s eyes. “It’s only another two days, regardless.” She pauses. “In fact, I may head back early. There are some things at Cackle’s I need to—”

“Hecate, no, stay,” she begs. “We’ll—we’ll do something tomorrow, I promise. We’ll get away from the hotel and—”

“Hide,” Hecate finishes, her voice flat. “That’s fine.”

Pippa looks away. “It’s not hiding.”

Hecate purses her lips. “I’m willing to go along with the charade in public, but let’s not pretend it’s anything other than what it is. I embarrass you.”

Pippa’s head jerks up, her eyes wide, and her hand tightens on Hecate’s arm. “Hecate, no. That’s not—that’s not even close to—why would you say that?”

Hecate pulls away, irritation rising. “Because I’m not naive. You’ve made it quite clear that I don’t belong in this part of your world.”

Pippa frowns. “And you’re alright with that?”

“Yes,” she lies. “If it’s what’s best for you—”

“It’s not.”

Hecate pauses. “I don’t understand.”

Pippa shakes her head, clearly exasperated, though Hecate has no idea why, until she says, so clearly, “I’ve loved you since I was eleven years old, and for thirty years I had to live without you. Now that we’re together, I want to—to—leap on my broom and shout it to the rooftops. But I can’t. Because—”

“It’s a game,” Hecate repeats. “Of course.”

“But you don’t believe that,” Pippa says. “Not entirely. Or you wouldn’t be so upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

Pippa glares at her. “Don’t lie to me, Hecate, not about this. Don’t say you’re fine when you aren’t.”

“Then don’t lie to me, Pippa,” she snaps. “Do not attempt to dress this up as something pretty, for your sake or mine. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I’m not trying to coddle you, Hecate, I’m trying to—” She cuts herself off abruptly and turns away.

“Trying to what?” Hecate goads, and Pippa sighs.

“I’m just…trying to do the right thing. By you. By us. By my school.”

Hecate watches her for a moment, sees the struggle on her face, and almost hates that she says, softly, “You may not be able to have it both ways.”

Pippa’s eyes water and Hecate’s stomach knots, her hands itching to reach out. Instead, she curls her hands into fists and lifts her chin.

“That isn’t fair,” Pippa says, and Hecate shakes her head.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Pippa barks out a wet laugh. “Of course it’s not.”

Hecate frowns, feels thrown off course. “I don’t understand,” she says, and Pippa seems to crack, seems like a torrent of things she’s held back slip out, and she’s powerless to stop them.

“I hate this,” she admits. “I hate pretending we’re not together. I hate that I can’t touch you or hold your hand or—or—even speak to you naturally. I hate the excuses and the—stares and—and I don’t care if people know. I want people to know. I want them to know I’m yours.”

Hecate blinks, surprise and confusion plain on her face, she’s certain. “But… your school…”

Pippa scoffs and her voice hardens. “Anyone that wouldn’t give us money because of you is money I don’t want,” she says. “And anyone who wouldn’t support us because of you is support I don’t need.”

Hecate flounders. “Then why—”

“Because of you.  Because you’re—you’re  _revered_ , Hecate. Your work is known in every witching circle there is and even the people that don’t like you admire you. You’ve built a reputation for yourself, a good one - as a traditionalist, yes, but as someone who cares deeply about The Craft and educating young witches and I didn’t want—”

She breaks off, and Hecate swallows tightly, barely manages to ask, “Didn’t want what?”

“I didn’t want to damage that. With my… modern practices and—singing and…  _pink_.” She bites her lip and looks up at Hecate with wet eyes. “I didn’t want people to think I was manipulating you. I know how much you hate being pitied, and I just—I didn’t want them to think of you as one of my supposed ‘conquests.’ You’re better than that. You  _deserve_  better than that. And I can’t be the one to ruin—”

Hecate kisses her, closes the space between them and kisses her fiercely, hands on her cheeks. Pippa startles, but instantly relaxes, brings her hands up to curl around Hecate’s biceps as she leans in, opens her mouth under Hecate’s.

When they part, they’re both breathing heavily, and Hecate presses her forehead to Pippa’s, eyes closed, heart hammering.

“Pippa,” she murmurs. “When is the last time you’ve known me to care what fools think of me?”

Pippa curls her fingers around the back of Hecate’s neck. “But they hurt you,” she whispers. “You pretend they don’t, but I remember—”

When they were young, when harsh words and criticisms would follow Hecate down the hallways, when rumors would pop up, about her family, about her, about her and Pippa.

Hecate shakes her head. “I cared because I was afraid,” she says. “I thought if you believed the rumors, if you knew how I felt, you would leave me. But I couldn’t care less about Miss Belltower or her friends or anyone else.

“But you—”

“Please listen to me,” Hecate cuts her off, pulling back far enough to see Pippa’s face. “There isn’t anything anyone could say that would matter more to me than you. If they think I am… naive or gullible, let them think so. There are far worse things,” she says pointedly, but Pippa shakes her head.

“I don’t care. Those rumors—I’m used to them.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Pippa smiles softly. “No. But they don’t bother me anymore.”

Hecate nods slowly, her fingers brushing the ends of Pippa’s hair. “And… I don’t embarrass you?”

Pippa kisses her firmly. “Never.”

“Then perhaps we’ve been the foolish ones,” Hecate says, ducking her head. Pippa kisses the frown on her face, her nose, her lips.

“We could be not foolish, from now on?”

There’s nervousness there, and hope, and Hecate’s lips quirk in a small smile.

“I would like that.”

Pippa beams, wrapping her arms tightly around Hecate’s neck. “I love you, Hiccup.”

Hecate buries her face in Pippa’s neck. “I love you, too, Pipsqueak.”

Pippa sniffles, pulls back to wipe a stray tear off her cheek and finally lets go, stepping back. “I suppose we should get back to the ballroom for the next panel?”

Hecate nods, and Pippa holds out her hand. “Together?”

Smiling softly, Hecate takes her hand, holds on, doesn’t let go.

“Pippa?” she asks, just before they transfer.

“Yes?”

“Don’t call me Hiccup in public.”

They fade away, Pippa’s laughter ringing through the empty room.


	20. war au (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- for victorianlesbian, who requested more war au, as well as "don't you dare die"  
>  **\- trigger warning: references to war, abuse, torture, physical abuse, scars**

The hospital is eerily silent. Lights in the room dimmed low, not even a sliver of moonlight, and everything feels artificial, clinical, too much so, for all the emotions roiling in her chest.

It’s been three days, and there’s no change. The doctors have all but given up, and Pippa hates them for that. Hates the pitying glances from the nurses, the detached updates from the physicians.

“It’s up to her now,” one said, as if he could be absolved. As if whether she lives or dies isn’t on him, though she’s in his care. As if it doesn’t matter either way.

“At this point, you need to be prepared,” he said.

“Prepared for what?”

“To say goodbye.”

Pippa had barely resisted the urge to throw the vase of flowers on the nightstand at his head.

She hasn’t left Hecate’s side, hasn’t slept, has barely eaten. She sits and holds her hand and tells her that it’s over, that she’s safe, that she’s home now.

“No one can hurt you anymore, Hiccup,” she whispers, brushing her thumb back and forth over Hecate’s wrist. “I promise.”

Hecate doesn’t stir. The monitors beep steadily. Pippa blinks back frustrated tears. She knows crying won’t help, falling apart will do more harm than good but it’s been three days and all she wants is to see Hecate open her eyes. Wants to hear her snap at everyone for fussing. Wants to feel the hand she hasn’t let go of curl around her own.

She’s never wanted anything more in her life, and part of her wonders if it’s selfish. If she should let her go. After everything she’s been through, everything that will follow if she wakes, if it might be kinder. To do as the doctor said.

Pippa stares at the black and red scar over Hecate’s eye.

She’s too tired for rage.

Rage had come first, when she barreled into the hospital, demanding to see her. When the doctors had protested and she’d yelled and screamed and threatened them until a nurse finally took her aside, a kind woman with haunted eyes who said, “Okay, dear, okay.”

She’d warned Pippa, before they went in. Held her arm and said, so gently, “She’s very weak. It’s been touch and go since she arrived. Another few days and she may not have made it. She still might not. You need to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

The nurse told her about the scars. Told her what to expect, but it hadn’t helped. Hadn’t stopped the raw sob from escaping, hadn’t stopped her knees from buckling.

Nothing has prepared her for any of this. For the war, the fighting. Wasn’t prepared for Ada’s message, the way her voice cracked, and she barely managed, “They took her. They took Hecate. They took her.”

Pippa had felt her heart stop. Felt her work slip from her fingers, felt like she was falling. Felt that way every day after, waiting. For a call. A line in the papers. A letter.

No one would tell her anything—for six months, no matter how much she begged and pleaded and threatened, no one said a word about what was being done. Whether they were getting her back. Whether they cared at all.

And then, Ada’s voice again, through the mirror, this time haggard but relieved: “They found her.”

She wasn’t supposed to know any of it, but it hasn’t taken much cajoling for Ada to give her the name of the hospital. She sends daily updates, even though there’s nothing new to say. Every day is the same.

Her eye’s still swollen shut, covered by a long, jagged mark. Her lip split, a bandage around her head, part of her hair shaved away. She’s so still Pippa can hardly bear it.

But she stays.

“A few minutes,” the nurse had said the first time, but Pippa refused to leave. Sat in the chair by the bed and held Hecate’s hand and said stonily, “You want me to leave you’ll have to make me.”

No one bothered to try.

The nurses flit in and out and Pippa stays, and stays, and stays. She washes Hecate’s face with a cool washcloth, rubs a salve over the scars on her arms. The spike of anger she feels every time she looks at her dims, turns to a knot in her throat that won’t unwind. Turns to fear and heartache.

She doesn’t know what to do, what to say so she says, “I’m here,” and “You’re safe,” and “Please come back to me.”

In the dead of night, she grips Hecate’s hand.

“I know you’re tired, Hiccup,” she whispers. “I know it’s hard. But you’re stronger than this. Than all of them. I believe in you.  **So don’t you dare die on me**. You hear me?”

The monitor beeps.

Pippa squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to cry.

“Do you remember when I got sick at school? That horrible flu. You stayed with me, remember? The whole time. Missed your classes and everything. You stayed and talked to me. I never told you because I didn’t want to embarrass you, but I could hear you. The whole time I knew you were there.”

Pippa brushes her fingers through Hecate’s hair.

“You stayed with me,” she murmurs. “And I’m going to stay with you. However long it takes.”

She lifts their hands, presses her lips to the back of Hecate’s before holding it against her cheek.

“I’m here, Hecate. I’m not going anywhere.”

She sighs, and sniffles, and lowers her head to Hecate’s shoulder, breath against her neck. She falls asleep telling her all the things they’re going to do when she wakes—the gardens in France they always wanted to see, a pilgrimage to Salem, a flight around Europe. She reminds her of everything she loves and everything still here. Tells her the war is almost over, and her part is done. She talks, and talks, and falls asleep to the sound of her own voice.

In the morning, sun cracks through the blinds, and Pippa sits up carefully, neck aching, eyes raw and throat parched, and Hecate staring at her silently.

Pippa gasps, one hand flying to her mouth, the other squeezing Hecate’s hand.

“Hiccup?”

She says nothing, but she stares, and stares, and slowly, weakly, curls her fingers around Pippa’s hand.


End file.
